


Pygmalion is a Grandmaster

by patxaran



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Chaseshipping, Chess, Euroshipping, Eventual Romance, Humor, M/M, Pygmalion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 152,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patxaran/pseuds/patxaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If self-appointed chess club president Seto Kaiba is denied his right to create the perfect chess team at Domino High, then he will settle with creating the perfect player to spite them all. Trying to be helpful, Ryou Bakura agrees to become that player. Feelings emerge as Ryou and Seto spend increasing amounts of time together studying chess and preparing for tournaments. Seto realizes he might be getting a little too accustomed to Ryou's company. </p><p>Euroshipping [Seto/Ryou]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yet Our Chess Team Can’t Chess

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a quick explanation of the title so you know the very particular direction this story is set to go in: 
> 
> Pygmalion stories are a common trope in writing and are characterized by an artist literally falling in love with his work. Here are the two well-known Pygmalion's in Western culture which inform the trope.  
> 1\. Pygmalion is the name of a sculptor in ancient greek mythology who carved a statue of beautiful a woman, Galatea, out of stone and then fell in love with it/her. The god Aphrodite brought the statue to life for him afterwards so he could marry it/her.  
> 2\. The Pygmalion myth inspired the play _Pygmalion_ by George Bernard Shaw, which is about a phonetics professor named Henry Higgins (the Pygmalion) coaching a Cockney flower girl, Eliza Doolittle (the Galatea), to speak like and pass herself off as a duchess at a garden party. This story is the basis for the musical My Fair Lady, which might be more recognized today.
> 
> This story is going to be played more or less straight on the Pygmalion theme. Seto's the Pygmalion and Ryou's the Galatea. Pygmalion is a grandmaster in this case because grandmaster is the highest title awarded in chess after World Champion.
> 
> Also, the events in this story take place after the ceremonial duel, more or less. Kids gotta go back to school and what not.

Though Domino High's varied attempts at academic excellence had encountered mixed results at best, the one area in which the school rarely disappointed was games. There was no lack of clubs dedicated to the plethora of different games that consumed and enthralled the children of Domino City. Many currently enrolled students were already internationally renowned masters in the game Magic and Wizards. On the honor roll were both the teenage CEO of the largest gaming corporation known to man and a transfer who was already a distinguished game inventor running his own retail franchise. Thrown in for good measure, the cherry atop Domino's very particular variety of excellence sundae, was a student purported to be the definitive King of All the Games, Ever, and was publically refer to as such without a shred of irony by children and adults alike.

Yet for all the school's illustrious achievement in the realm of game culture and technology, it remained somewhat of a mystery as to why the chess team at Domino High insisted on proving time and time again that it invariably sucked at chess. The team wasn't simply weak in chess, underwhelming, or lackluster. It was a total failure and an insult in teenage form to the oldest and most distinguished of traditional games. While only a recently organized team, they'd managed to be outstandingly terrible at any and all varieties of chess presented to them, Eastern and Western, resulting in a flat out ban from tournament competition by their own school administration in an attempt to lessen the damage the team caused to the school's prestigious game reputation. Many would argue that this was unjust, and that junior competition was more about the benefits reaped from the experiences gained and the camaraderie shared than about winning trophies and distinction. Upon thorough examination of the team's performance, however, many would then perhaps recant and admit that while a full on ban maybe wasn't a step in the right and true direction, it was nevertheless a step in the best direction currently available.

The City of Domino, while offering Domino High the ideal environment for a student body with such single-minded dedication to games, was also the last place such a discrepancy as the inability to play chess would be overlooked. In desperation, the school attempted to recruit key figures from its pool of celebrity duelists and game aficionados, offering academic incentives to anyone willing to at least join the chess club. Such incentives were deliberately designed to patch up the very specific gaps in students' coursework left by spending weeks at a time competing in convoluted tournaments. Chess club would be a ticket to academic redemption allowing players to obtain both the glory and the grades needed to succeed in life.

The end results of this chess club enrollment campaign were unfortunate, demonstrating once again that strategy should be left to the game genius student experts and not harried school administrators. What hadn't been fully taken into account before the plan was instigated was that the students who needed academic redemption the most were those who had washed out of tournaments and realized five failed quizzes and numerous missed classes too late that they weren't cut out for dueling...or Capsule Monsters, or go, or whatever other game-centered pathway to fame and fortune had seemed such a sure bet to their underdeveloped adolescent minds beforehand. As such, the chess club was soon inundated with the very lowest rungs of the professional game hierarchy that attended Domino High, as well as students who weren't even particularly good at any games at all but just wanted the easy bonus points for signing their name to a roster and paying a bit of pocket money for the privilege.

Moves to resolve the crisis were slow, and the situation soon devolved into such chaos that it seemed quite possible that half the student population of Domino High was in the chess club. Problems snowballed virtually unchecked until the club was unable to even schedule meetings due to the fact that there was no suitable location on campus to accommodate the influx of new members. The sponsor of the club, a humble math teacher, refused to spend the rest of the year burdened with the responsibility of managing such a massive group, and announced that she would be limiting membership to the amount of members that could be comfortably contained within the school cafeteria. Priority would be given to upper classmen, and once capacity was reached, all others would be waitlisted. Those who had registered previously would still be granted a substantial amount of bonus points for having attempted to join, but would have their club dues returned and no further points awarded until they were able to join the club itself.

In this manner, the club size was cut down considerably, and missing more than three meetings unexcused resulted in immediate removal. After a month, the overall academic incentive was also reduced due to a pointedly vague excuse about a supposed conflict with grading standards, because of course it was. Students were then effectively forced to learn some chess in spite of themselves just to elk out the few points still available in return for their continued membership.

The drama and mad-dash of enrollments accomplished absolutely zilch in improving the school's chess team, which still staunchly insisted on sucking at the precise game it was dedicated to. For every premature bald spot developed by administrators fervently pulling out their own hair in hysterics, zero students stepped up to defend their school's game-based honor on the chess board. The official chess team itself remained unchanged, as having hundreds of registered members in the club made it virtually impossible to keep records or develop any sort of club ranking to determine which members were actually the better players.

The students whom sponsors had intended to attract with their offer didn't bite. The King of Game himself was too busy playing Magic and Wizards, having long since achieved the dream of all duelists: a profitable professional career. Said career was trucking along at full speed and couldn't spare a moment for a detour into chess. The only students close to professional stock that the club ended up gaining were Ryou Bakura, who they hadn't even noticed joined until a bookkeeping error nearly resulted in him having to pay his membership fee twice, and Jounouchi Katsuya, who missed half as many meetings as he attended, yet the club was too scared to kick him out.

Just as Domino High's aspirations of total gaming supremacy appeared dashed, something like salvation finally arrived one morning in the form of the fabled Seto Kaiba storming into the activity director's office, absolutely beside himself with indignation. The depths to which his high school team had fallen had just been brought to excruciating light during an unrelated interview about a KaibaCorp sponsored fundraiser. In this interview, the over-ambitious reporter, who did little to hide the fact that he wanted nothing more than to stir things up and hurt feelings, had inquired frankly as to why Seto allowed such a blatant display of incompetence to shame him and his original signature game. Seto, baffled and displeased with the sudden departure from script, had demanded to know what the hell the man was talking about. The reporter then, all too eagerly, explained in tearing detail the whole ugly situation as it was currently underway in the high school's activities department. And this department was where Seto found himself shouting at people the very next morning.

Being an expert in chess, Seto Kaiba had always appeared as something of a rescuing beacon beyond a turbulent sea of inadequacy that the club's sponsor had hoped to eventually reach and not drown. Up until his forced change in perspective, however, the performance of his school chess team had been irrelevant to Seto. Seto had his namesake corporation to run, shareholders to placate, pensions to fund, and no time for student activities beyond appearing in class for the sufficient amount of hours to not be expelled from school. Things had appeared destine to continue as thus until Seto was given a damn good reason for them not to. Upon learning that the reason the team had been banned from competition by the activity director of the school was because a player had loudly and insistently accused an opponent of performing an illegal move while castling, he'd realized with supreme embarrassment that immediate action had to be taken.

From that point on, for better or far worse, Seto's attention had been drawn. He was an unstoppable force in his anger, and addressed the issue the same impassioned drive and unilateral conviction in his own ability through which he set out on all personal projects. The Domino High chess team was about to abruptly stop sucking, right now, and that was a damn promise.

The first order of business was a restructuring of the system through a (theoretically hostile, although given the circumstances, the sponsor would've rolled out a literal red carpet if she'd had one) takeover of the club presidency, a position previously held by the now defunct team captain. Chess Club President Kaiba proceeded to challenge every member of the official team to a one-on-one match as sort of a trail by fire to prove their eligibility to retain their positions. The several solid, slammed-to-the-floor ass-kickings that ensued proved that absolutely none of them did.

Once he'd established beyond refute that each player at his disposal was near useless, Seto decided it was time to search the club member pool for new blood and attend his first real chess club meeting. He went about this introduction to the club only way he knew how: through a goddamn spectacle. Thus, in a power play designed to cement his control and demonstrate to everyone in attendance his unequivocal mastery of the game, he had the whole of the recently disposed chess team compete against him in simultaneous matches. He then beat every single one for a second time. While blindfolded.

Seto's point was made. What remained of a dissenting voice among the club members concerning his abrupt takeover was soon confined to Jounouchi Katsuya, who for his part simply hated Seto on principle no matter what Seto did. The loss of Jounouchi's notable gaming prowess to the organization was suddenly no longer of great concern, and he was promptly informed within a week of Seto's arrival that if he missed three more meetings, he'd be removed from the club roster. This incised Jounouchi into attending every single meeting from then on out for the simple reason of talking shit about Seto as loudly and as often as possible in the vain hope that it would somehow, miraculously, incite a coup d'état. As of Seto's first month in office, though, Jounouchi's best efforts remained ineffectual. The fact that Seto was a dick and a chore to be around was obviously as incontestable as it had been since the day Gozaburo Kaiba had introduced his adopted son to the world, but as far as managing the chess club was concerned, the guy was competent and students trusted his authority.

If there was one particularly devastating drawback to Seto's intimidating mastery of chess, it was that it gave students a reason not to want to have anything to do with joining the chess team. Who wanted an overbearing, merciless taskmaster as a chess coach? The few who dared to join were those with no choice, whose parents had pressured them into joining the team in the first place back when it sucked. Seto, knowing he'd have to ease his talented members in slowly, responded with an education campaign designed to increase players' competence as well as building up their confidence. Non-threatening, engaging chess experts experienced in working with children were invited to teach lessons after school during chess club meetings. And while Seto was the main party responsible for contacting these educators and coordinating their lessons, he stayed as far away as possible when the lessons were underway. In fact, after his very public show of dominance, he transitioned into an almost invisible role of running the club and organizing events behind the scenes. Elections (though rigged) were held, leading to the ascendency of a boy named Hiroshi to the vice presidency. Though a recent transfer to Domino High, Seto had chosen Hiroshi for his amiability and warmth, which contrasted Seto's own deficit in those areas. Plus, Hiroshi already knew how to play chess, and was on track to become the new team captain in addition to the club's vice president.

Paying for Seto's chess education campaign was the club's own money, which Seto maintained control of in spite of there being an official treasurer following the elections. As chess club was the highest populated organization on campus after Magic and Wizards Club, it was also one of the richest. This didn't mean that it couldn't also take a little extra donating through a KaibaCorp funded organization dedicated to supporting the continuing gaming traditions of Domino City. There was even a presentation ceremony, where Seto had his little brother Mokuba deliver the check to the club president [Seto] and shake his hand.

Through the efforts of their newly elected leader (and indeed Seto had been voted for by nearly every member in the club during the election, minus most notably Jounouchi and his friend Ryou, who Jounouchi had bullied in voting against Seto), the chess club slowly but surely improved its game. However, merely teaching chess was by no means Seto's endgame. Seto had a reputation to salvage, and nothing sort of regional, perhaps even national, dominance of the game would appease him.

The moment Seto decided that there had been enough training, sometime within the second month of his presidency, he eagerly transitioned to the next phase of his plan. It was prime time for a club tournament. And damn if there wasn't anything a big-ass tournament couldn't fix.[1]

###### Notes:

[1] _Damned_ if there isn't.


	2. A Suitcase of Incentive

The cafeteria was different today. Ryou Bakura could feel it in the air like a weird funk rising in from a yet undiscovered source. It wasn't the typical old food and puberty funk, either. Today, the normal chatting seemed less…chatty. The relaxed atmosphere seemed less…lax. The fact that something was going on was glaringly obvious, and yet the sensation was only palpable enough to make it bothersome without giving a clear indication of where exactly it emanated from. Fortunately, Ryou was not left to speculate long. A sharp growl and clenching of fists from the blond teen on his right told him everything he needed to know: Seto Kaiba had once again come to a chess club meeting.

"What gives? He doesn't show his face for two months, and he still gets to be president, but if I miss three more meetings, I'm out?" asked Jounouchi as a temporary podium was assembled by a small crew preceding Seto in entering. Seto ascended and cleared his throat loudly into the microphone.[1]

All eyes fell on Seto. A stunned, curious silence spread across the cafeteria as those assembled realized that the club's enigmatic president and creepy child billionaire was present. No-one had seen Seto since his blindfolded, twelve-way chess match months before. In fact, since the arrival of new vinyl roll-up boards and plastic chess sets after the election, no-one had heard about him working in any officially capacity to benefit the club, either. Vice-president Hiroshi was the one who presided over meetings and introduced guests brought in to teach. Rumors were spreading that Seto had only become club president as a an example of his contributions to the local community. Rich people were all about maintain a good public image, right? The Domino High chess club was nothing more than a pity project Seto could throw money at and look like he was giving back.

Without any fanfare, Seto launched into the first order of business. "I'm here to announce an upcoming tournament within the club,” he said, “and to clarify any misconceptions that participation will be voluntary…if you wish to remain a member.” 

Seto cast a pointed glance at his vice president, who cringed and hunched over guiltily. Indeed, Hiroshi had hinted to the club members earlier that some sort of friendly competition was coming up in the near future. He'd made it sound like something pleasant, maybe even fun. Seto squashed that in his next few words.

"Due to financial restraints," there weren't really any, "and the limit of resources available," Seto had intentionally limited the resources from the very beginning to lend credence to his future actions, "we'll have to cut the chess club down to 150 members."

There a low rumble of groans and sounds of complaint from around the cafeteria. Jounouchi, the most confrontational individual in the room, demanded to know what the big deal was, while his companion, Ryou, shrunk away conspicuously in the opposite direction to distance himself and disappear amidst the crowd. Irritated at the interruption, Seto placed both hands firmly on the edges of the podium and leaned forward with every ounce of menace he could muster. It was surprisingly effective as the cafeteria once again fell into a hush. Even Jounouchi was silenced mid-inquiry into what Seto's problem was, due to the momentary distraction of realizing his own dear friend had just abandoned him in shame.

"If you happen to be slow on the uptake, you may be asking yourself how we're planning to cull this herd," said Seto, seeming to somehow catch the eye of every member who'd made even the slightest sign of protest before. "Obviously you'll be competing for the positions and will receive a ranking determined by your performance in the tournament. The final 150 members will continue to receive the academic incentive offered by the school, which, don't kid yourselves, you all know was only offered in hopes of improving the chess team's competitive edge by attracting new talent. If you don't have that talent, then you really don't deserve to be receiving that benefit.

"For those of you who choose not to compete, or who do compete but fail to make the top 150, you will have the option to join the more 'casual' chess division of Game Club, where you can continue to practice until you improve. All prospective chess club members with no previous chess experience from here on out will have to make their way up from Game Club as well. If you'd like to blame me for this, don't waste your breath; the precedent for this practice was set by the Magic and Wizards club last year in response to its own increased membership demand. If Game Club’s member numbers swell to the point where even they are overcrowded and stop admitting new members, that is not my problem, and you'll have to find a new hobby to be terrible at on your own time."

Seto paused for effect, having never once stumbled as he spoke or looked away from the mass of students gapping up at him. Now, he leaned back into a more relaxed position, and asked, practically daring someone to answer, "So, are there any questions?"

There weren't. Even Jounouchi was quiet, subdued by the knowledge that he was one of the few select members of Domino High's official Magic and Wizards club, and therefore unable to criticize a process he benefitted from. Game Club itself, with it multiple divisions, had been created to absorb the overflow of game enthusiasts that were suddenly attending Domino High and overwhelming the clubs for the more popular games. Game Club was actually know to be fun, featuring lots of well-planned activities and extremely involved parents and sponsors who went out of their way to make the club an inviting, enjoyable place to practice a variety of games with classmates of different levels. Sure, being a member of Game Club lacked the prestige of being a member of Magic and Wizards Club, but then again, not everyone played the card game with the intention of becoming a professional duelist. Seto, in altering the conditions for membership in chess club, wanted to make it very clear that the HIS iteration of chess club was a privilege and open only to serious players willing to work for their membership rights.

"If at this time you already know you won't be participating in the tournament," said Seto, "you're invited to collect your book bags and leave."

No-one moved, but instead shifted around uneasily where they sat. Seto sighed.

"Listen," said Seto sharply, "we can't have every single one of you competing or this tournament's going to take months. Either some of you leave, or for the next two hours, I'll challenge every one of you, ten at a time with the top five progressing to the tournament, to a simultaneous five-minute blitz.[2] I'm entirely willing to do this if need be and stupidity prevails, but before I trouble myself, I want you to take a moment to reflect, look deep down, I mean really deep, and ask yourself if you'd honestly prefer to waste mine and everyone else's time for your pathetic and misplaced pride, or if you'd just rather leave now and get this over with painlessly."

While a few students now glanced uncertainly at the doors, the cafeteria remained at capacity.

"Fine," said Seto coolly. "But before we get started, let me tell you that in compensation for my wasted time, the five worst competitors from each group will be barred from rejoining chess club for an entire year."

The number of students nervously looking towards the exit increased substantially, but still, no-one stood. Seto rolled his eyes at every single one of them before snapping his fingers and motioning for one of the men who'd come in with him to approach the podium. Wordlessly, the man handed over a large case, which Seto held up for the audience to see and then opened to display its contents.

"This," announced Seto, maybe louder and slower than truly necessary, but he was starting to suspect the crowd might need some help, "is a suitcase of money. The first ten people to leave will receive one hundred and twenty dollars each, which, if you're following along, is a dollar for every minute of both our lives that you are working to save by leaving. The next ten will receive one hundred and ten dollars. After that, one hundred, ninety, eighty, and so on and so forth until we're left with a more reasonable amount of competitors for the tournament. For an accurate accounting of how much money goes to whom, I'd suggest making your exit through the back left double doors where my men are waiting."

The change was instantaneous. Students now began bolting for the door en masse. Even Jounouchi wasn't above taking Seto's money if the guy was just giving it away, but he'd picked the wrong side of the cafeteria to sit in. Within minutes, the total money was paid out, and all further students leaving the cafeteria in a scramble for cash were notified upon exiting of their immediate disqualification from the tournament and subsequent removal from the chess club.

Jounouchi was thirty students away from the door by the time it was realized amongst the members still inside the cafeteria that leaving now would only penalize them. One of Seto's men approached him anyway and offered him fifty dollars right there to leave and never come back, but Jounouchi, not one to be bought off for so little so directly, refused. The man assured him fifty would be better than zero once he lost in the tournament. Jounouchi assured him he could go fuck himself and his prick of a boss, too.

"So it looks like we won't be needing those simultaneous blitzes after all," said Seto after the commotion had died down and attention was once again directed toward the podium. The consensus among the crowd was that Seto had just played a dirty trick on them, but as there were few who hadn't run for the door moments before, no-one was in a position to argue it.

"It should go without saying that the top players who come out of this tournament will be permitted the rare opportunity to join the official Domino High chess team and will receive expert coaching in order to represent our school in local, regional, and ideally national competition. Furthermore, the top ten players on the team will receive, upon graduation, a sizable scholarship from KaibaCorp offered only to the most outstanding students in the pursuit of chess playing excellence at Domino High. In short, there is plenty for you all to look forward to in the upcoming weeks."

Once more, Seto paused, surveying the notably reduced group before him with an expression of appraisal mixed with just a twinge of disgust at what he had to work with. For the final time he ventured to ask, as much in challenge as before, "Are there any questions?"

And again there were none. Appeased by the steady reassurance of the silence, Seto stepped down from the podium and took his leave, allowing Hiroshi to introduce the structure and rules for the tournament, which would begin the following week.

###### Notes:

[1] Seto Kaiba is naturally followed by a crew of swift builders ready to construct a stage or a duelling platform at a moment's notice.  
[2] Yeah so, "simultaneous five-minute blitz" is...what I'd guess you'd call that? 


	3. Ryou Bakura’s Plight

Being a transfer student as well as a former competitive duelist, Ryou Bakura had fallen behind considerably in his coursework over the past school year. Every minute the Spirit of the Sennen Ring had spent possessing him was a minute spent not studying, doing homework, or being proactive with his education. The Sennen Ring was gone now, along with all other selves that might’ve hitched a ride inside it, but, that didn’t mean Ryou didn’t continue to suffer the consequences of it. 

Case in point, math, once a subject he’d considered neither laughably easy nor excruciatingly difficult, had become one of Ryou’s worst classes. All he had left when he confronted endless word problems and equations was the small comfort of knowing that he was still exceedingly better at it all than Jounouchi. It wasn’t an especially high bar, though.

“Kaiba thinks he’s so important throwing his money around, but the joke’s on that guy,” said Jounouchi hotly. Even a full half hour after Seto had left, Jounouchi was still riled up enough to keep complaining. “I’m sure that’ll make the people who work in his company real happy to see him wasting money for a chess team that’s gonna be shitty anyway. The jerk just blew tens of thousands of dollars for nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t even break ten thousand, Jounouchi,” said Ryou. He sighed miserably. It was nothing but doom and gloom now with Jounouchi’s normally cheery, easy-going friend after the tournament had been announced. The last thing Ryou needed was the chess club to get smaller, increasing the odds for him to get kicked out of it. While Jounouchi had been free to leap across the room for what was ultimately only going to be twenty dollars at best, Ryou hadn’t left their table. Academically, he couldn’t afford to go anywhere.

“Hold on,” said Jounouchi with a look of disgust after fishing a calculator out of his book bag and doing the math. “So Kaiba cut down like a quarter of the chess club for less than eight thousand dollars? He could do way better than that, the cheap bastard. Have some goddamn respect when you pay people off.”

“More like a third of the chess club if you count the people who were still pouring out the door after the money ran out,” Ryou reminded him. “Those guys got themselves kicked out for free.”

“The son of a bitch,” snarled Jounouchi. He slammed the calculator down on the table in anger, which broke it, but he didn’t care. He’d borrowed the calculator from Honda anyway. “Listen, Ryou, we’ve gotta win this tournament.”

As much as Ryou desperately hoped to at least survive the tournament, winning it was not something he felt he could reasonably aspire towards.

“I want to do well, but why is winning necessary? They’ll force us to join the chess team if we win,” said Ryou. He wasn’t naturally competitive, unlike Jounouchi, who’d fight anyone or anything for any reason. 

“But you see, that’s the whole point,” said Jounouchi. As his enthusiasm grew, so did the volume of his voice. Ryou had to grab him by the arm to keep him from climbing the table in a fit of emotion. “We kick ass, prove we’re the best, and then we tell jerkface Kaiba he can suck it, we don’t want to join his shitty team.”

“I dunno…” said Ryou. “That seems awfully petty. Like if—”

“Wait a second,” said Jounouchi, holding up a hand in Ryou’s face for him to stop talking. “First, what the hell kind of word is ‘petty’ from a sixteen-year-old?” [1]

“Well, you know, spiteful, small-minded, juvenile perhaps. Don’t look at me like that. It was on our vocabulary list in fourth period three weeks ago.”

“Ryou, as far of a fuck as I give, a thesaurus might as well be a dinosaur. Now tell me, what do you mean that my plan is ‘petty’?”

“I mean we’d just be acting like dicks, and for no good reason,” said Ryou. 

“That’s better. Yes, we will certainly be acting like dicks, and no, we have an excellent reason. We’re going to kick Kaiba in his gold-plated, diamond-studded, rich prick, baby-sized balls.”

Ryou blanched, imagining the specific picture Jounouchi had just painted so delightedly for him with words. 

“Jounouchi, I am not…I don’t…it’s just…w-what?” he stuttered, suddenly afraid. He was afraid Jounouchi might want to actually kick Seto in the balls, although to be fair, it wasn’t a revelation. Ryou was more afraid that Jounouchi would find a way to make Ryou do it, too. 

This right here was a terrific example of why Ryou didn’t really mind sometimes hanging out with groups of girls instead of Yuugi and everyone else, although by now most girls who spoke to Ryou had grown a bit strange. It was unfortunate that the Battle City tournament quarterfinals had been broadcast throughout the entire city. His diabolical other self, the monster from within the Sennen Ring, had been the one playing “Ryou’s” match, but that wasn’t common knowledge. Consequentially, nearly all of his classmates were now convinced he was a psychopath who could suffer another mental break at any moment. It effectively made Yuugi, Jounouchi, Anzu, Honda and Ryuuji the only true friends he would ever have.

Minus, obviously, the very specific group of girls who found that being verifiably insane might just have made Ryou cooler. He’d been gifted more Ouija boards and occult objects than he could count since he was a finalist in Battle City. Some girls rolled with the weird like that when they were in love. Ryou never forgot to accept each and every creepy creation with a smile, hoping all the while that Sennen Object Magic was the only real magic and that he wasn’t about to get a love spell put on him by a misguided underclassman.[2]

“You having some kind of fit or something?” asked Jounouchi, not impressed with Ryou’s dumbstruck horror and failure to respond. “I say we train with Yuugi starting tomorrow. We’ve only got a week. While we’re here, we should ask Vice President Hiroshi what “on pause it” is when he comes around. I’m pretty sure the smartass I played yesterday wasn’t doing it right.”

“E-en passant?” asked Ryou in a very small voice. [4]

“Uh yeah, I’m here to learn chess, not French, Ryou,” said Jounouchi, waving Vice President Hiroshi down. “You set up the board. I’ll play white. I’m going to drag Hiroshi over here because the guy is blind. Goddamn.”

"Okay," said Ryou and grabbed the pieces from a box on the table. "I'll have it ready."

Jounouchi was already gone, chasing down Hiroshi after loudly calling his name into the crowd. At Jounouchi's combative tone Hiroshi immediately ducked down to help the nearest group to him and feigned that he hadn't noticed. Ryou sighed and began setting pieces up, taking his time. They were two seconds into Jounouchi's great plan to conquer the tournament, and there was already a delay.

In this manner, with Jounouchi bursting full of overconfidence and Ryou soundlessly imploding from nerves, the ever so important training for the upcoming tournament began. Kaiba’s ass was henceforth on notice; it was gonna get kicked.

###### Notes:

[1] FYI: Jounouchi has no idea how old Ryou is. Nor do I. Nor do I care to make a decision about it.  
[2] I don’t want to monitor fangirl troupe vitals this entire fic, so we’ll assume that after Battle City, they’ve been reduced from a horde to a pack. It’s just so I do not have to constantly fit them into the narrative. They will occasionally make appearances, especially once Ryuuji joins the main story, but all they'll really do is illustrate how much of a pushover Ryou can be.  
[3] Go ask youtube. Not as consistently pronounced as you'd think, en passant.  



	4. About Damn Time

For all the bravado and blustering Jounouchi displayed in the days leading up to the tournament, nobody was too surprised when he didn't reach the finals. Chess didn't require half as much luck and loopholes as Magic and Wizards to win, so it had never exactly played to Jounouchi's strengths as duelist in the first place. Such a skill set was hard to transfer over to a game that needed an actual strategy and knowledge of the rules.

Training with Yuugi of all people had been a disastrous choice. Yuugi didn't even like chess, and Yuugi was the nerdiest of the cult of game nerds that proliferated in the current global boom of game playing celebrity. For all his innate skill, Yuugi was a lazy coach who kept accidently beating Ryou and Jounouchi a hundred different, perfect ways instead of adequately explaining to them how to stand a chance. Yuugi wasn't a monster, though, and he apologized the best he could for it. He occasionally attempted to offer pieces of vague advice like "try to think ahead" while remaining blissfully unaware that his students had no mental framework for what they were supposed to be thinking ahead towards.

All Ryou and Jounouchi knew for sure were how to move the pieces and that they eventually, somehow, had to put the opposing king in checkmate if they ever got the chance. The effect was like trying to tell someone how to prepare a pasta dish while giving them the very limited instructions of "boil the water, add the pasta, there's your carbonara". And yes, while those were perhaps very important steps in the process of making such a dish, it was hard to shake the feeling that there was probably a little more to it than just that.

If anything, training with Yuugi had taught Ryou how to lose. A lot. Ryou made full use of his prodigious talent throughout the tournament by losing often and with great skill. And yet despite himself, there were still players worse than he was. Sometimes, inexplicably, Ryou found himself in a draw or, even more confusingly, a stalemate. He wasn't entirely sure how either of those things happened, but the tournament directors told him and his opponents when they were in one and what action to take.

At one point, Ryou was forced to offer a draw to his opponent by Seto Kaiba himself, who was acting as the lead tournament director. Noticing just that the match between Ryou and his opponent was taking longer than expected, Seto had come over to see if he could resolve whatever issue had come up. After watching the two play for thirty seconds, he'd nearly flipped the table over and disqualified them both immediately. It turned out that Ryou's and his opponent's kings, the last two pieces on the board, had been dancing around each other in eternal circles for the past seven minutes. To his credit, Seto remained as civil with them as he knew how, not directly calling either of the players stupid, but implying it strongly by speaking to them like they were small children. He forced Ryou to offer the draw and his opponent to take it. Then, problem solved, he threatened to kick them both out of chess club for life if he found either of them in the same situation again for the rest of the school year.

Jounouchi faired better than Ryou, seeing how he was the ambitious type who'd made sure to know what things like en passant and castling were before he'd arrived, even if he still couldn't pronounce either one. When he ultimately played Ryou in the second week of the tournament, Ryou lost in a record five minutes. This was because, in a manner similar how to Ryou was learning to stay afloat in matches at the expense of either player actually winning, Jounouchi learned more with each match how to actually make moves that resulted in victory. Being beat down was the only way Jounouchi knew how to build himself up, and he thrived in the tournament as a result. He might not have made the quarterfinals, but he definitely didn't go down without a fight.

All said and done, the tournament lasted a little over two weeks, though a temporary misplacement of the adjournment envelopes threatened to push it into an entire month. Ryou, in a move that would've been considered cheating if Seto'd believed he'd done it on purpose, survived just barely because draws were still worth half points and thus indirectly allowed him to earn more points than he perhaps deserved. He retained his position in the chess club with a ranking of 143rd out of 150. Jounouchi, meanwhile, slowly but surely became something of a real threat within the club and was ranked 22nd. The accomplishment came as such a surprised to his friends that they threw him a party during lunch break to celebrate on the day the rankings were announced. Honda went so far as to skip class to buy a cake for lunch.

For all its high-stakes and histrionics, the club tournament was only the beginning. With the chess club whittled down to a size Seto was more prepared to deal with, phase three of his plan went into motion. Meetings were moved to the girl's gym, where boards and tables were set up three days a week immediately after school. The gym also featured a stage at one end, and it was here Seto began challenging the remaining club members to five successive matches apiece in order to appraise their individual skill by his own means.

An extravagant lottery system was set up to decide which member Seto would play for the sole reason that Seto relished the suspense and fear it created. Every meeting started with Vice President Hiroshi plugging in the lottery machine for that day's selection and waiting for the startup sequence of flashing lights and short jingle to finish. At the top of the machine was a clear sorting chamber that held the hollow, plastic balls containing every club member's name written on a slip of paper. For a special twist, Seto crushed the ball of the day with his foot while laughing maniacally to reveal his next victim. If the matches went quickly, Seto could challenge up to three students in a meeting, each selected by the lottery with full fanfare and taken to the stage where Seto had a board set up and waiting.

After the first draw of the day was completed, the club meeting continued otherwise unchanged from the previous meetings in the cafeteria. An expert would arrive and teach a lesson for the first thirty to forty-five minutes, and then there would be time for some on the board practice. The only main difference now, besides Seto's sadistic lottery, was that every week each member was expected to play a match against someone stronger than they were for rating points within the club. This was designed to keep the rankings fluid and improve the members' skills with matches of value. Each of these weighed matches had to be recorded with algebraic notation on an official score sheet and turned in to the club secretary by Friday afternoon, or else the player would receive a demerit and have their ranking automatically reduced when recalculated.

Like most of his fellow club members, Ryou was terrible at algebraic notation. His matches took twice as long for the trouble of having to record them using it. For most, it seemed virtually impossible to focus on playing well and writing things down at the same time. And yet, Ryou soon found a strong incentive to improve his notation skills. Like everyone else, he was required to "play" the obligatory rated match every week, but, as it didn't matter where or when the weekly rated matches were played so long as the result was turned in before Friday, Ryou stopped playing physical matches altogether. He got good enough at writing his matches out that he was often seen huddling last minute with a random club member outside the gym before the Friday meeting started, inventing between them a match that had never happened and which Ryou would ultimately lose.

As with all ranking systems, someone had to be last, and Ryou didn't care much if it was him. It soon became a regular thing that anyone who'd forgotten to record a match that week would find Ryou at the last minute and get him to invent something for them to pass off as their game so they both wouldn't get punished. In this manner, Ryou held the 150th position consistently enough for even Seto Kaiba to take notice and grow suspicious.

The afternoon Seto drew Ryou's name in the lottery, all the typical, sneering fanfare that normally would've accompanied the announcement ceased. After retrieving the name from the crushed remains of the ball that had held it, he ended the performance mid-cackle, his expression transforming from cruel mirth to grim resolution. The name in his hand offended him more than any insult ever could, and now the moment had come for its problem to be dealt with. Not even Jounouchi, a sworn enemy Seto played the week before, had earned such a severe response.

"It's about damn time," Seto growled under his breath before reading the name itself aloud. "Ryou Bakura," he snarled into the microphone and made an immediate about-face. The sharp, exaggerated click of his step as he strode towards the stage echoed through the gym. Each and every person turned to look over at the ashen-faced Ryou. Next him, the only person to make a sound, Jounouchi expressed a fervent desire to know what precisely the fuck was Seto's problem, as always.

###### Notes:

There are none.


	5. Your Ass Handed to You, Five Different Ways

Not a single person dared to breathe as Ryou rose from his seat. The jarring, metallic glide of the zipper on his book bag was audible across the entire gym and caused Ryou to wince repentantly. When he looked around to apologize, no-one would meet his eye.

Whatever had merited Seto's brusque response to his name being drawn, Ryou wasn't sure he wanted to find out. While it was acknowledged as a fact that Seto didn't like anyone in the room, he seemed to have reserved a special hatred for Ryou Bakura. The reason for this was predictable enough, though Ryou's guilty conscious avoided thinking about it. Seto had taken Ryou's corner cutting and lack of motivation as a personal insult. Ryou was close to failing a third of his classes and made no secret of the fact that he'd only joined the club for bonus points. Well-intentioned fellow club members, Vice President Hiroshi among them, had already tried to warn Ryou to work harder and win more rated matches, but Ryou, naïve and optimistic as he was, assumed they must be overreacting. As outrageous as he came off, Seto wouldn’t waste his time caring about whoever was in last place in the club rankings. His concern needed to fall on the good players in the club who were going to make up the new chess team. Just because Ryou wasn’t chess team material didn't mean he was unfit for the chess club.

But, like his answer to the fifteen-point essay question at the end of his English unit exam concerning the one book he hadn't finished reading, Ryou was hopelessly wrong. Seto had indeed noticed him, and Seto was fuming. The smoke was practically billowing from his nostrils in plumes.

"Sit down," Seto commanded as Ryou timidly approached the table where he already sat, still as a coiled viper waiting to strike. Ryou cringed at the scrap of the chair's feet against the worn wood of the stage as he pulled it out. He realized once he'd sat down that the uneven surface caused the chair to rock back and forth loudly when he shifted his weight, forcing him to sit on its front edge to avoid making too much noise. Though this position felt like leaning in too close to a roaring fire, courtesy dictated he didn't recline even a bit, or else every time he moved forward to reach the board, it would be accompanied by a loud thud.

"Is...is this about the weekly matches?" asked Ryou in a whisper. He knew he looked ridiculous, but the gym was just so quiet. "I can explain," he continued, although Seto hadn't confirmed at all what this was about. "See, I'm mostly losing matches anyways, so actually playing the match out is a waste of time for both of…wait? Hold on, what is this?" He broke his whisper when he realized that the curtains facing out to the gym were being closed.

"No-one will be interfering," said Seto. Ryou, not possessing the world's greatest fortitude for high stress confrontations, was now legitimately concerned that he might start to cry at some point. As he watched the long red curtains meet, he wondered if maybe this wasn't a good thing, a secretly considerate gesture for when Ryou eventually fell to his knees like a coward and begged for his pitiable life. Seto was a hard person, but surely he wasn't without some mercy. At the very least he wasn't going to make a spectacle of Ryou, so that probably counted for something.

"In our first match, I'll let you play white. If you knew what you were doing, you'd be grateful that I'm giving you a small advantage," said Seto. He straightened up in his chair to better reach the board as he spoke. Until now, he’d been leaning back coolly, arms crossed and watching Ryou approach with a fixed gaze brimming with revulsion. Ryou had been tediously slow in arriving, dragging his feet unto doom so grudgingly that Seto had grown both annoyed and bored waiting for him.

"Ah,' said Ryou as he remembered they were supposed to play five matches against each other. He hadn't anticipated that to still be the plan. "Well, okay then." He reached out a hand to move his first pawn, but hesitated at a sharp sound of disapproval from Seto.

"You'll need your score sheets and a pencil."

"You're right," said Ryou with a nervous laugh. He fumbled for the book bag he'd brought with him and pulled out his chess club folder. Quickly, he counted out five score sheets and removed them, placing them on the table beside the board. He noticed for the first time that Seto had already done the same on his side, except in addition to his score sheets, he also had a very large ringed binder. "My mechanical pencil is out of lead, and I don’t have any erasers," said Ryou apologetically after going through every pocket in his book bag and only finding pens.

"I'll trust you with a pen," said Seto. There was no change in his expression.

"Good," said Ryou. "I guess I'm ready then, so, we can start."

"After you," said Seto. He made a condescending nod towards the board, just in case Ryou'd forgot it was his turn.

Perspiration began to drip down Ryou’s back. What a day to have worn his gym clothes under his uniform. The air behind the curtained stage was heavy and warm and doing him absolutely zero favors as the pen slipped between his sweat-slicked fingers. Outside in the gym, the rest of the club had gone back to normal operations with Hiroshi announcing that today was for free practice without a lesson. Members were encouraged to take a seat and start playing, with the suggestion that it was a good opportunity to complete a rated match. Money was also being raised for a chess club library, and Hiroshi would be going around with the treasurer for the next few meetings asking if anyone had donations. Those who wished to donate later could also meet with a chess club officer at any time during school to give them the money.

Ryou wished he could be outside in the gym instead of forgotten and abandoned with Seto. Typically, club members didn't follow Seto's matches after the ordeal of the lottery had finished, and while on the surface it appeared to be the same case now as with any other match, Ryou couldn't help but imagine that maybe the closed curtains had struck people as a bit weird. It wasn't like anyone was going risk asking about it, though. They were all scared of what might happen if they drew Seto's attention. Only Jounouchi would've dared, and Seto's men had already escorted him out of the gym for causing a ruckus after Ryou's name had been drawn.

"Call your moves," said Seto after Ryou placed a pawn two squares forward.

"Okay. Then, the pawn in front of the rook on the right? Kingside? Two squares up, or ahead. It advances two squares," said Ryou, improvising poorly.

"You know algebraic notation, so use that," Seto reminded him. Ryou was ashamed to be corrected on something so obvious, despite the fact he’d never called a chess move in his life. "But hey,” Seto added patronizingly, “congratulations on calling it a rook.”

Ryou almost expected a slow clap at his expense. Seto's pet peeve about players calling the rook a tower or a castle was famous in the club.

"So…pawn advances to column h, row four," said Ryou skeptically. He knew the notation, but he didn't know how to legitimately say it. He also tended to mix up which were ranks and which were files, choosing to call them rows and columns instead.

"You can used fewer words. I have eyes," said Seto, shushing Ryou before he could attempt to call the move again. "So, you're opening with h4. Interesting choice. I'll go with e5, since I guess one of us has to at least try to win." As he spoke, Seto seamlessly transitioned between moving the coordinating pawn and recording the move on his score sheet. Each step passed in one fluid motion, as if none of this involved any active thinking on Seto’s part. He waited for a few seconds afterwards, then shot Ryou an irritated glance. Ryou didn’t see. He was staring blankly at the board, trying to make sense of Seto's words and asking himself what could possibly be wrong with his first move.

"Are you going to write anything down?" asked Seto. Ryou jumped, as if startled awake, and hastily grabbed his pen to record their progress.

"I guess this pawn to e4," said Ryou. He didn't have a reason for it. Basically, it was the mirror of Seto's last move.

"Sorry. Am I supposed to move it for you?" asked Seto after a beat. Ryou, now flustered beyond redemption, reached out skittishly and placed the piece he'd forgot to move two squares forward, allowing Seto to take his turn.

Seto had been right; Ryou had no plan whatsoever. What he did was stay afloat, but only barely, and not for long. Something about the way Seto placed his pieces made his side of the board seem impenetrable to Ryou. No move was safe, and despite Ryou's efforts to keep his king as tucked away as possible, Seto began to put him in check relentlessly until Ryou was losing pawns and knights and eventually his queen trying to save it. In the end he was trapped, having exhausted every piece surrounding his king and gaining nothing but both of black's knights, a bishop, and a measly few pawns to show for his struggle.

"That's checkmate," said Seto, copying the result down on the score sheet. He then opened the binder beside him and deposited the sheet into a section Ryou noticed Bore his own name. "Set up the board. I play white this time; God help you."

"What's that for?" asked Ryou, motioning to the binder with his hands full of chessmen as he cleared the board. Seto didn't even look up from filling out the top of the next score sheet.

"Notes," said Seto. "Exciting as this must be for you, you and I aren't playing for fun. This is an evaluation."

"You're evaluating how I play chess?"

"You and everyone."

Ryou accepted this with a quiet nod as he continued reassembling the pieces on the board. He supposed this made sense, since Seto was trying to build an all-star team of chess masters to compete in tournaments. Perhaps he didn't have time to wait for the rankings to slow and stagnant, showing him who the indisputably best players were. One hundred fifty people were a lot.

"And these five matches, will they tell you who's good or not?" asked Ryou. Although Seto had been furious before, he’d grown he was cool and composed through the first match, focused more on the procedural nature of the evaluation than his feelings. His sudden professionalism had ameliorated much of Ryou's fear. If Seto had anything else planned beyond these five matches, he was keeping those cards close for now.

"No, they won't," said Seto. He looked Ryou directly in the eyes, and stated as plainly and clearly as possible, "Most of you are terrible. That's been proven beyond the shadow of any doubt already. This is just an evaluation—this, and the matches you all turn in every week."

Ryou dropped his gaze and retreated a small distance from Seto, suddenly self-conscious and sorry. "But we could be lying on those," said Ryou quietly.

"You would know."

"I guess you're mad about that?" asked Ryou. He hung his head, waiting for the barrage of insults he was sure would follow. That was what Seto wanted, right? To get back at him for making a mockery of his precious pet chess club? There was no room for shortcuts in the super serious world of chess playing, and if Ryou didn't start taking the absolute privilege that his membership was seriously, he and Seto were going to have much worse problems.

"I'm not mad. I'm disgusted. And it's for a much, much better reason than that," said Seto before turning to the board. "Now, reverse black's king and queen. The queen starts on its own color."

Ryou switched the pieces and took up his pen in anticipation of Seto's first move. He wasn't left waiting for long. Seto opened with e4, and Ryou responded with e5. As in the previous game, Ryou defaulted to defending himself with thinly veiled imitations of Seto's own moves, though he had little notion as to why Seto was making them. All he knew was that he had to avoid attack and stop Seto's advance.

"You can't just defend yourself indefinitely without attacking," said Seto, quickly growing irritated with Ryou's almost complete avoidance of confrontation as the match dragged on. Ryou had managed to remember to castle to protect his king, although he'd ended up losing a bishop to do so. All he seemed to want to accomplish was getting his king tucked away on a8 behind a row of pawns as soon as possible. "There's no corner to hide in and wait the game out. You're the only target I have."

Ryou nodded. Slowly, fearfully, he began capture whatever pieces were available to him. He almost apologized each time, except the look of disdain on Seto's face made him hold his tongue. Spreading himself out in an attempt to attack more pieces caused Ryou's defenses to collapse, and he was soon put into check with nothing to answer it. Seto didn't even allow Ryou finish the game, as the loss was inevitable, and in six moves Ryou would've had no more moves left to avoid it.

"Since you're too timid to attack, and I'm not here to teach you how to open a game, play black again," said Seto. He’d rightfully deduced by now that Ryou was more reactive than dynamic in his pitiful excuse for tactics. Ryou didn't argue the decision, but set up the board again in silence, this time putting the queen on the proper square.

"Some advice," said Seto after Ryou finished placing the final piece. "Take control of the center here." He pointed to the middle squares and moved pawns out from both sides to demonstrate. "I know you've been told this, but obviously it didn't take. This e4 is a popular opening." He silenced Ryou as Ryou was about to ask him why. "I'm not here to teach you why right now. Now, follow it with some sort of combination of e5, knight to c6, knight to f6…" Seto arranged the pieces as he spoke, taking turns for both sides until an aggressive defense developed on black's end while white bafflingly stood by and let it happen uncontested. "There it is. You now have control of most of the board." To Ryou's amazement, Seto took up a pen a different color and started writing the moves on his score sheet. "We'll start from here," he said, indicating for Ryou to copy the sequence of moves down as well.

"Why are you helping me?" asked Ryou, not sure whether to be relieved or offended.

"These matches aren't about me winning five times in a row," said Seto. "If you’re done copying, then go. It's your turn."

Ryou decided to move his bishop, but without straying far from the safe confines of the defensive structure Seto had just built him. Seto frowned at this decision, but took his turn without comment.

"Should I play black again?" asked Ryou, clearing the board after ceding a third victory to Seto. He liked to think he'd put up more of a fight this time, since Seto hadn't said anything for the entire match. Unless, of course, Seto's silence was a bad thing. In that case, it must've been the worst yet.

"Play white," said Seto, This time he wanted Ryou to try to control the center and develop an opening scheme. He wanted to see what choices Ryou would make with that in mind, since so far he'd been playing with zero purpose. Playing against someone without direction tried Seto’s patience to its limit. Ryou was often unpredictable in what he'd do next, but not in a good way. It clearly broadcast to Seto that Ryou had no idea what he was doing when it came to strategy. He was just moving pieces around arbitrarily and waiting to see what would happen next, blindly hoping for the best.

The following match was the longest yet. Seto held back a long time and gave Ryou every opportunity to develop his pieces, but since Ryou was attacking and terrible at it, the game ended in a draw. This was confusing to Ryou, who’d never fully understood when to call a draw. He asked to know why. Seto told him flatly that he'd offered the draw out of pure exasperation after seeing all his efforts on the board to assist Ryou come to nothing repeatedly. It was best to end the game there before Seto lost his temper and failed to complete the evaluation. He couldn’t resist muttering derisively that really, it sense that Ryou bumbled about the board as he did, since he only ever played against the worse members in the entire club, giving out victories to them due to sheer laziness and lack of ambition. However, that was no excuse not to make an effort that was at least coherent, if weak.

Ryou didn’t attempt to refuted a single word of what Seto said. Seto noticed and praised him sarcastically for having a better sense of reality than his idiot friend Jounouchi, at any rate.

"For the last match, I'm not even going to play," said Seto, throwing his pen down onto the table and leaning back in his chair. "Write me one of your fictions where I win in fifteen turns."

Ryou was stunned by the request, seeing how inventing matches was how he'd got Seto to hate his guts in the first place. Seto had just spelled that out for him, hadn’t he?

"I'm serious. Start writing," said Seto, having interpreted Ryou's hesitation as disbelief. Ryou leaned closer in to the table and pulled the final score sheet towards him. He took up his pen, but turned to Seto before writing anything down.

"Can…can I borrow an pencil?" he asked, embarrassed.

"No."

Ryou sighed. Well, of course he couldn't.

"Can I use the board, then?"

"No."

"What if I make a mistake?"

"Don't."

Ryou swallowed nervously and turned back to the score sheet. Fifteen moves was not a whole lot, and way shorter than Ryou was used to writing. Normally, Ryou would finish up a match in closer to fifty. Seto definitely knew that already, seeing how he was forced to read over the matches every week. Seto was expecting this to be a difficult for Ryou.

After a long time, Ryou noticed how quiet the gym was. The chess club meeting had already ended, and yet here he'd remained, trapped on stage behind the curtain with a bored and angry Seto Kaiba. Even the tables in the gym had been put away without Ryou having noticed a thing. The chess club members had probably just assumed Seto'd murdered Ryou, and they'd never see him again on the mortal plane.

"Is there some sort of penalty if I don't finish?" asked Ryou.

"Not really," said Seto. On the surface this was almost reassuring, although Ryou wasn't convinced that a penalty wouldn't be invented later.

"I don't think I can finish this right now," said Ryou. He had to be honest. They'd be there for hours if Seto expected him not to leave until he was done. "Maybe I can work on it at home and bring it to you on Monday."

"Fine," said Seto. Ryou gaped at him as he pushed back his chair from the table. "It's already been an hour and a half, so I'll be generous. You can go. But keep the score sheet empty until Monday."

"Do I need to give you anything now?"

"No, you'll complete the match on Monday. In the meantime, you'll probably want to study what you're going to write down."

"Of course," said Ryou. "Thank you," he added in genuine appreciation. It was a bit suspicious, Seto being so reasonable, but then again, he probably had better things to do than watch Ryou stare at a blank score sheet for another hour.

Seto stood up as Ryou collected his things, but didn’t leave immediately. He turned the pages of the binder in front of him, checking over the final score sheets one last time. Almost as an afterthought, he said, "I'm going to start letting people at the top of the waitlist compete in tournaments with your division, and unless you advance in rank, you'll definitely be removed from the club through displacement."

Ryou froze and stared as Seto continued to turn the pages in Ryou's section of the binder. He noticed, as Seto wanted him to, the many scribbled, last minute games he'd written on the concrete of the walkway outside the gym door.

"So, maybe you should stop throwing all your matches," said Seto, "or get the hell out of my chess club."

He looked up at Ryou in that instant with an expression of such ardent hostility that Ryou found it impossible to meet his eyes. Ryou backed away from the table and hurried off of the stage, nearly tripping over the curtain as it caught around his foot.

"Y-yes, sure thing," said Ryou, straining to sound cheerful as he all but ran from the other young man. The evaluation was over. The animosity had returned. "S-see you on Monday!"

Seto said nothing as he turned his back and left through the right of the stage where a half-hidden back door led out to a parking lot. Two of his men stepped forward from the shadows to collect the binder and put away the board. Ryou, emerging from behind the curtain alone into the girls gym, clutched the empty score sheet close and started to jog, then run, for the doors, telling himself he was late for the math study group he attended after chess club.

In reality, the study group was already finished, but Ryou didn't slow down until he was outside, panting for breath, the gym doors clicking shut ominously behind him. Until Monday, they seemed to say to him, until then.

###### Notes:

Again, none. Look up the e4 (King’s Pawn) opening in chess, and then go tell Ryou what that is, because he seems to have slept through that day in chess class.


	6. Book Learning

The local library near Ryou's apartment had become a second home. If he was to salvage what was left of his grade point average and obtain admission into a good university, he was going to have to pull some major weight and nothing short of dominate each of his school subjects to perfection. Unfortunately, he'd started to fall a bit behind schedule. Instead of mastering five paragraph essays and the uses of logarithmic functions, Ryou had his nose buried in the pages of the library's most extensive book on chess openings.

Chess, it turned out, had more than earned its reputation as the bastion of those classic games preferred by geniuses the world over. Obviously Ryou should've chosen a book more geared towards beginners of the game, but it was far too late now. He flipped through the thin pages with a morbid fascination for the vastness of everything he didn't and couldn't possibly know. Seto Kaiba himself couldn't have known as much about starting a chess match as this doorstop of a book did. A human brain could only contain so much limited information. right? Where would Seto have found space in his skull to put it all and still have room for the essentials like knowing how to walk or breath or defecate in a timely manner? There was just no feasible way.

Surrounding Ryou at the small desk he'd occupied for the lengthy part of an afternoon were endless pages of notes and fresh attempts at concocting a respectable match where Seto won against him in fifteen moves. He'd been able force out a few wins well within the amount of turns of the prescribed limit, assuming white made all the worst possible choices imaginable. One example he found in a book took less than two turns. But, Seto hadn't asked him for the fastest win possible. He'd asked for fifteen moves exactly, and with that Ryou was struggling.

With a little work, Ryou had come up with a small handful of matches that came in at fifteen turns, but most of them involved both sides playing more or less competently until white basically lost its mind [along with the game] in a highly unrealistic series of cataclysmic blunders accompanied by a king so poorly defended it seemed as though white had abandoned the piece entirely in an anarchistic attempt to strike out on its own. Ryou's pride, as well his fear of Seto's response to such a blatant half-measure, kept him from memorizing one of these disasters to recite on Monday and calling it a day.

Ryou had decided against taking the nuclear option: Getting Yuugi to do everything for him. Yuugi knew endless variations and strategies that could undoubtedly make for a respectable match in fifteen turns. If it weren't for the sinking suspicion that Seto would somehow know it was Yuugi who'd done the work, Ryou would've been over to Kame Game in an instant asking Sugoroku if his grandson were home. Instead, Ryou spent his weekend alone, forcing his way through several basic books on chess. He also bought himself a fresh, clean notebook and began filling it with copious notes on all sorts of vocabulary and introductory information. He filled it by half in under two hours and then went back with colored highlighters to differentiate parts that were important to know for either openings, middle games, or endgames.

Little of the information Ryou encountered was totally new, as Seto had hired experts to teach the exact same concepts to the chess club before, but Ryou hadn't been paying attention to all of it before. He'd never written anything down or tried in to retain the information. At best, what Ryou was reading from the books struck him as vaguely familiar and not much else. Committing it all to memory was a continuous chore, but hopefully not a thankless one. Once he got the basics down, he'd be able to tackle the game of fifteen turns with at least a chance of putting forth something moderately respectable for his level. Then, it would simply be a matter of presenting the final result to Seto and face whatever judgment was declared.

When the Monday arrived and he was compelled to finally demonstrate the fruits of his labor, Ryou discovered his hands didn't shake as much as before, and his voice didn't falter. Being a novice in the game, he was as prepared as he ever could be. If Seto had a problem with it or couldn't accept it, then Seto was an asshole, simple as that. Ryou had done his part.

"Let's see," said Seto, holding the filled out score sheet in his hands and glancing over it. He shrugged and placed it back on the table after less than a minute. "Now, do three more."

Normally, Ryou would've protested, but after working so hard for nearly three days straight, he had a good idea of a few other matches he could put down. He'd invested too much effort to not have at least a couple alternate ideas floating around in his head, runners-up to the match he'd ultimately chosen to share. One example even involved the Two Knights Defense [1] Seto had indirectly taught him the week before, although he decided against it as being too on the nose.

"What do you think?" asked Ryou, perhaps a bit forward due to a twinge of overconfidence clouding his judgment. The fact that he hadn't stepped up to the already close-curtained stage trembling like leaf and whimpering was boldness enough by any metric. Seto hadn't held the lottery at the start of the meeting or shown his face to the club at all. The air in the gym had been tense, confused, anticipatory. When Ryou had shown up, on time but not early, he's discover Seto already waiting for him in the dim, muffled quiet of the enclosed stage.

"What do I think? I think you did your homework," said Seto, placing the final score sheets lightly on the table. "We'll play the fifth match now."

Ryou gaped at him. "What do you mean? You said that was the fifth match," he said. He indicated the pile of papers next to the board.

"That was the preliminaries," said Seto. "You'll play black."

Ryou had no choice but to go along. What followed was a match that, while still incredibly unbalanced in levels of skill, proceeded with much more seriousness than before. Ryou supposed Seto was going easy on him, especially when he noticed Seto using one of the openings he'd just written down. He imagined this was some sort of test to see if he really knew it, and he responded to the opening in literally the only way he knew how, since his brain was painfully average and had absolutely zero room for variations.

Lacking the skill and foresight to anticipate Seto's moves, as well as having no idea how to maintain defenses once he had them in place, Ryou's moderately good position eventually fell apart. He captured Seto's queen, which made him feel a little better, but it could've been that Seto had just given it to him in order to advance his own machinations. On second thought, that must've been exactly what it was. Ryou ended up checkmated a few moves later with the only rook that could've saved him entangled in a sudden series of threats on the complete opposite side of the board.

"Was that better?" asked Ryou. He was oddly exhausted from the mental effort he'd just had to put forth and sustain. Although he'd lost anyway, there was no arguing that it had been a nobler loss than before.

"You did your homework," said Seto a second time.

This wasn't going to be enough for Ryou. He had far too much riding on the academic incentive of staying a member of the chess club. "So you won't kick me out of the club?" he asked directly. He had to know he'd redeemed himself and that Seto wasn't still looking for ways to get rid of him.

"If you don't deserve to get kicked out, you won't be," said Seto matter-of-factly.

"Well, have I proven I don't deserve to get kicked out at least?"

Seto didn't even pause to think before replying, "You've only proven that you're exactly the waste of time and talent I thought you were in the first place."

Ryou was taken aback. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been this continued level of vitriol. What had he worked for all weekend if not at least a bit of begrudging respect for his surprising work ethic? What more did he need to do to prove he was capable of trying if he had to?

"But...what do you mean?" asked Ryou. "I…I got better."

"You could've always been better," said Seto, "but you chose to dick around in the last position of the absolute lowest division instead of apply yourself. Therefore, you have exactly the rank you deserve because it's the rank you've earned. You belong in last place, Bakura, and if you're ultimately removed from this club as a result, then it will be because you've earned that, too."

Despite the stifling heat of the small space where they sat, a chill fell over Ryou. Seto's demeanor was icy enough to freeze out the intense heat radiating from the single, hot stage light above them.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Ryou, at a loss for anything else he even had a right to say at that moment. He was disappointed. In a way, he was almost heartbroken. He'd expected too much.

"That said," Seto continued, not even acknowledging whatever personal crisis Ryou was undergoing before him, "the only reason you're still in the chess club is because I think, with the proper motivation, we could use you. Your improved performance today has proven me right. Besides talent, we need people who know how to study and work hard. It's the only way we'll get any better than we are now."

Ryou frowned. "…we?" he asked cautiously, dreading the answer.

"The chess team."

"But I'm the worse player in the club!" cried Ryou, suddenly claiming the title with vigor. Seto wasn't about to entertain his self-defeating bullshit.

"You'll join the team as a substitute, which is where you'll do the least amount of damage. Your proclivity for studying the rules and doing what you're told to do will inspire the others. As they see you improve, they'll have proof that there's more to chess than short-term cleverness and wrapping your head around a few basic mating tactics."

"How can you even assume that's going to happen?" asked Ryou. "I'm terrible. You know that."

Seto held up the score sheets Ryou had turned in to him earlier. 

"Besides those members with previous experience, you're practically the only one here who's bothered to teach yourself something as stupidly simple as algebraic notation," said Seto. He lowered the papers and tapped them against the table to straighten them. "It was for a pathetic reason, of course, but you still showed initiative and developed competence in the topic fairly quickly, which is more than I can say for much of the rest of the club. So, as much as your so far contemptible choices both disgust and offend me, I'm not ready to write you off just yet. I would like to see you apply yourself to more advanced aspects of the game."

"And if I don't agree to join?" asked Ryou.

"I'll fix the tournament pairings, and you'll find yourself out of the club in three weeks."

With a loud knock as the far right foot of the chair hit the wooden floor, Ryou slumped back in his seat, defeated.

"I don't hate chess, but I'm not very competitive," he warned Seto unhappily.

"You better hope you start to be. Team meetings are on Tuesdays and Thursdays in Room 204. I'll see you there tomorrow, or else."

###### Notes:

[1]Two Knights Defense: That name sounds weird, but my research tells me this is what it is called. I've used the defense and had it used against me, but I only just recently learned the name for it. (Remember when I said I've never studied chess before? And how for some reason I still thought writing a story about chess was a good idea??)


	7. Making the Team

"Whoa, Ryou, you're on the chess team? What the hell kind of standards do we have around here?"

This was the first thing out of Jounouchi's mouth when he entered the classroom to find Ryou the first one there and waiting. Jounouchi hadn't meant it to come off as offensive, but tactlessness was his gift. What he was probably trying to say was another reiteration of what he always said, that Seto sucked as a leader, despite his enemy's billion dollar corporation proving Jounouchi wrong every day through its continued, profitable existence. It stood to reason that someone who added Ryou of all people to the team had no idea what he was doing.

Ryou updated Jounouchi on the absolute basics of situation, but didn't get far because Jounouchi choose to launch into a litany of complaints about how Seto ran the team now that he had a new ear. By the time Seto finally arrived, they were sitting next to each other, united. Jounouchi told Ryou that Seto was always late, but another team member correct him that Seto had only been late twice. Jounouchi insisted only once was already one too many times.

"We're continuing strategy study with closed games," said Seto. There was a groan from many of the players, Jounouchi being among the loudest. "You all like opening fast and attacking as much as you can, but you need strategy to back up your tactics. The game's not always about how much material you can take from your opponent early on, because eventually you're going to have to actually checkmate them. For those of you who might be curious, this would be something otherwise known as playing the damn game properly. It's not checkers, everyone, it's chess."

With a weighty sense of mutual resignation, as though they were marching off to get shot instead of setting up boards to play a game, the chess team prepared for practice. To both his and Jounouchi's surprise, Ryou turned out to be one of five players out of the fifteen in the room with a reasonable grasp on closed openings. And by reasonable, it was to say he had the faint whiff of a clue as to what they were maybe supposed to be.

"Shit, Ryou. Were you holding out on me this whole time or something?" asked Jounouchi after Ryou demonstrated, for the first time ever in all the matches Jounouchi had played against him, that he could respond to Jounouchi's well-rehearsed openings with at least some feel of what he was doing. "You must've been studying."

"Basically, yes," said Ryou. He hadn't provided too much detail about how he'd been strong-armed into joining the team in the first place. He preferred to keep things vague between him and Jounouchi by saying Seto just saw potential in him as a substitute. Jounouchi, of course, was convinced it was a conspiracy and that Seto was going to try to pit them both against each other to test their friendship with fire, or perhaps he wanted to use Ryou as leverage to manipulate Jounouchi into getting back in line when Jounouchi ultimately made his stand. This might've been true, if Ryou didn't believe that Seto, for all the vitriol that existed between him and Jounouchi, only thought of Jounouchi in return as an annoying pest and not his sworn enemy.

"Okay, you have two options," Ryou heard Seto telling the pair of players next to them. "You can either go back and forth like this like idiots for fifty turns and call it a draw, OR, and this is my expert suggestion, you just move your king back to g1 like a sensible person and be thankful this little dance wasn't all a ruse to take your queen. If your opponent follows you again, capture his queen with yours."

There was a begrudging mummer of discontent before Seto's suggested changes were made. Finished, Seto rounded on Ryou and Jounounchi.

"Are you making meaningful achievements with your moves, or just pushing pieces around?" he asked, looking directly at Ryou as he spoke.

Ryou shrugged. "Meaningful achievements, I guess."

Seto nodded curtly and moved on. Ryou let out a sigh of relief, and Jounouchi mocked him for being afraid of Seto. Of course Ryou was making meaningful achievements, proclaimed Jounouchi, he had Jounouchi to keep him in line. Ryou offered a quick smile and agreed. It was a bald-faced lie. He and Jounouchi had been playing together ever since they'd both joined the club, and that had got them both absolutely nowhere.

Seto stopped the matches and made everyone start over three more times. He then quizzed them on different closed openings. Ryou stayed quiet, since this was his first class, and he wasn't fully up to speed with what the rest of the team had been studying. He certainly didn't know any of the openings by name.

"Since a few new players have joined us, there's something I want tell you all," said Seto at five minutes before the end of the meeting. He'd had Vice President Hiroshi hand out packets while they'd been rehearsing openings. "I want to reiterate that, although you've all been chosen specifically for this team, none of you are genius players. None of you are going to just 'turn out' to be magically good at chess over time because you have a special brain that makes moving pieces around a board easy for you. What you need more than anything is to be is to be prepared. And to be prepared, you need to study. If you don't study hard now, you'll end up wasting time trying to re-invent basic strategies people have known for a hundred years. I don't have that kind of time to wait for you."

Here, Seto held up the previously handed out packet. "To speed things along, I suggest you look over these materials and learn them to the best of your ability. This is not—as I've heard a few of you muttering—just some complicated bullshit of how 'fancy' people play 'fancy' chess games. This is literally the most basic blueprint of how to play the game. I'm not about to let a single one of you compete in a tournament, representing this school, until you've bothered to buckle down and learn basic theory."

This announcement bore another round of groans from the team. Seto seemed to be having a hard time stifling these outbursts of complaint, especially with Jounouchi leading the chorus. On the bright side, though, no-one was arguing with him. No-one doubted Seto's authority on all things related to chess, even if they did resent his methods for teaching it to them by forcing them to memorize pages of information.

"For the new members, I'll need you to come in during lunch for the next week so that you can be caught up," he said, looking around to Ryou and a few others who seemed equally bewildered at having been added to the team recently. "That is all for today. The meeting's over. You can all leave."

With this, Seto departed, and Ryou and Jounouchi headed home with a reading assignment Jounouchi promised he wasn't going to do.

Two weeks later, Seto was announcing the team's first scheduled tournament at a community center nearby. Everyone on the team was expected to attend, even if they didn't all compete. It was important for each member to experience the atmosphere of a tournamentt. In the future, Seto expected each of them to serve as junior tournament directors in school tournaments, which naturally Domino High would begin hosting once their reputation improved. A lot of was riding on their debut performance as a newly formed team, and even though Seto didn't expect them to take home a first place trophy right now, he did expect them to give it their all.

Ryou, meanwhile, slowly filled the rest of his chess notebook with information from the packet, working diligently to prove his place on the team was justified and should be continued. The loathsome look on Seto's face when he'd told Ryou that Ryou so far deserved nothing of all Seto had given him remained fixed in his mind. Ryou was not one to settle with disappointing others so utterly. Even if he couldn't cut it in a tournament, he'd at least try to help the competitors prepare. Maybe that was what Seto had wanted of him all along? If so, Ryou would try his best to make a good example. It was the least bit he could do to prove it wouldn't have been a better idea to kick him out of the club in a fit of anger.

Thus, as the tournament drew nearer and nearer, Ryou exhausted every effort to help prepare his teammates.

And yet, the success wasn't meant to be. Ryou's work ultimately came to nothing. In the face of betrayal from within the team itself, even Seto's own best efforts faltered and failed. Slowly but surely, from the inside out, the chess team began to tear itself apart. The chess team of Seto Kaiba was never meant to last, and it would crash before it even left the ground.

The upcoming tournament signified the beginning of the end. And hardly anyone knew it.

###### Notes:

Nada. Niente. Nothing.


	8. Who Can Hate the Loudest

Surprisingly enough to many, Jounouchi had absolutely nothing to do with the embarrassment of the team's first tournament. Sure, Jounouchi had always disliked Seto, but he never would've been callous enough to take it out on the entire team. For all his big talk about telling Seto to go fuck himself if Seto asked him to join the team in the first place, when Seto had ultimately done so, Jounouchi hadn't put up a fight. He wanted his school to do well as much as anyone. Indeed, if there was any person on the team who'd taken the betrayal worse than Seto, it had to have been Jounouchi.

In the end, it wasn't bitterness or a lazy team member that led to the catastrophe. It was love. Specifically, it was the love Vice President Hiroshi had for his ex-girlfriend.

The night before the tournament, Hiroshi and Minnie had had something of a rekindling of their relationship. She was also a chess fanatic, like Hiroshi. Hiroshi's entire former school was indisputably kind of great at the game. But, even though they were already great, the idea of Seto Kaiba at the helm of the new and improved Domino High team had made them apprehensive, and they'd enlisted Hiroshi to aid them in bringing Seto's team down from the inside.

Ryou was the first to notice something amiss when a talented underclassman came to where Ryou was practicing with Jounouchi and complained that he'd been withdrawn from the tournament. Assuming it was an error, Ryou attempted to correct it with the organizers, but wasn't allowed. The person who'd dealt with the registration had been Seto, but another student had seen Hiroshi speaking to the organizers afterwards. Still, this could've been a coincidence, and Ryou took it as such. A short time later, however, Ryou confiscated an egg sandwich from a team member who was about to enter the competition floor with it. When he asked why the player had tried to bring food inside, they'd told him Hiroshi had told them it was okay for them to do so.

Ryou immediately assigned Jounouchi, the most intimidating person on the team within reach, to the duty of stopping people from bringing extraneous items onto the competition floor. He then went to search for Seto, who'd vanished soon after the team had arrived to the community center. It was crucial Seto know one of his veteran players had no idea how to comport himself at a tournament and was giving extremely bad advice to his trusting team members. The only person Ryou could think to ask where Seto was, however, was Hiroshi himself, and after twenty minutes wandering around in the direction Hiroshi had pointed him in, he suspected he was being lied to and led in circles. Instead, he asked a random girl from another school if she'd seen Seto Kaiba around, and she had. She'd even gone so far as to offer to help him look.

By the time Ryou was able to locate Seto and notify him of his concerns, a bigger problem had come up. A rumor was going around that Seto had rigged the tournament to guarantee that his team would win. Some players were refusing to compete against Domino High until it was proven that Seto hadn't paid off the tournament directors. This protest, which Ryou had heard a few rumblings off as he'd made his way around the building, was in full swing by the time he arrived to inform Seto of Hiroshi's bizarre antics. Coincidentally—or rather, not—Hiroshi's old school turned out to be the nucleus of these rumors, and Hiroshi himself had been dropping hints that it was true.

Seto recognized what had happened well before Ryou could guess, and pulled Domino High from the tournament. Other schools were already in a drowning uproar out about a set of incorrect results that'd been posted. They blamed KaibaCorp, one of the tournament's biggest sponsors, of backing its CEO over more skilled teams. Even if it was true that Seto himself had no idea the tournament had been rigged, he wasn't playing fair because he was too important to fail. The powers-that-be were going to try to appease him by handing him a good result not matter how his team preformed, which meant his mere presence would taint every match his team was in.

There was no choice but to leave in disgrace before the commencement of the third round. Seto barely spoke to the team after telling them they were going, and angrily refused to let Hiroshi onto the bus home until he was told it was illegal to leave a minor stranded without transportation. Upon hearing, this, Seto himself exited the bus. He called his own private car and left alone without bothering to meet the team back at the school afterwards to discuss the debacle.

Speculation for the next few days was that Seto had quit being president of the club. Some said he was too ashamed to show his face after being found out as a fraud who'd bought off the tournament directors. Others said he'd given up, that the chess club was cursed to suck, and that there'd been no way to save it anyway. All Ryou and Jounouchi knew for certain was that Seto failed to show up to meetings for the rest of the week. He wasn't even in class. Whatever difficult emotions he was feeling after [Former] Vice President Hiroshi's betrayal, it was hitting him hard enough to avoid not just the team, but school altogether.

In Seto's absence, Jounouchi assumed a sort of leadership of the club. He wrangled Ryou in as well to assist him as he attempted to revitalize the enthusiasm of the demoralized players by continuing with lesson reviews and activities as scheduled. Jounouchi offered optimistic reassurances that the team was better off without Seto, anyway. Seto had been a risk all along, since people were always going to suspect him of using his money and influence to cheat. It wasn't without reason that some people accused Seto of cheating when he beat his grandmaster-level stepfather nearly a decade before in the famous chess match that got Seto and Mokuba adopted. Without Seto weighing them down, the Domino High chess team could really prove itself at last, and no-one would ever need to doubt them again.

Jounouchi enjoyed impassioned speeches much more than he cared to do the work of managing the club. The bulk of the more tedious administrative duties therefore fell on Ryou, who was the more organized of the two and felt a stronger sense of responsibility. Ryou needed the chess program to continue existing, even if he spent more time on club work than his homework. He couldn't allow it to fail now.

"It's a perfunctory measure that's ultimately going to ensure the club resource library still gets funded," said Ryou after going over the club's account with Acting President Jounouchi, who seemed to only half listen to him. Ryou had arranged a meeting to present a plan worked out by him and Treasurer-Secretary Shouta to stagger the purchasing of club supplies until a fundraiser could be arranged. Lots of money went into tournaments, and now without the guarantee of KaibaCorp having their backs financially, some tightening of belts was in order.

Why Ryou was involved with the chess club budget of all things was because Jounouchi knew he was better in math and had assigned him to it, as if doing well in math were all there was to managing the club's money. The student treasurer-and-secretary himself struggled with all forms of accounting, and had come to Jounouchi on the verge of tears when Seto dropped off the face of the Earth. Apparently he'd been appointed by Seto simply to fill the space in his council and not to actually do a single thing with the club's funds. Jounouchi, unsure where else to turn, had pressured Ryou into taking the job with the promise that he'd make sure Ryou never had to compete in a single tournament in the future, assuming there would be any.

"Look, Ryou. I'm sorry, but Yuugi more than meets my nerd interaction quota for the week, so you're gonna have to speak to me like a normal person," said Jounouchi. He frowned at the notes Ryou had placed in front of him. Ryou frowned as well at the realization that the past five minutes he'd spent speaking had meant nothing to Jounouchi.

"I'll...try," said Ryou with a solemn nod.

"I didn't say try," said Jounouchi. "I said you have to do it. So, do it."

Ryou took a deep breath and once more began to break down the basics of the spending plan. He was interrupted in the midst of introducing the club's current, rather mysterious rook-piece shortage, by the sound of the classroom door being flung open behind him. Spinning around, he found himself eye to eye with Seto Kaiba looking incensed. This was not the place Ryou very much wanted to be, and he moved aside in an instant, allowing Jounouchi to take over.

"Jounouchi!" Seto exclaimed, storming up to the desk on the direct path Ryou had given him. "What's this bullshit I hear about you being chess club president? I'm out of town for a week on a business trip, and I come back to find that, in addition to being made a mockery of throughout the entire city, I've been fucking usurped as well?"

"Hey, I'm not the spoiled brat who threw a fit and abandoned the team for an entire week and a half," said Jounouchi. For how much Seto blustered and fumed, Seto did not scare him. "I at least feel an ounce of responsibility for this team."

"You're not even a team officer," said Seto. "You can't be president if you aren't even an officer."

"Yeah, well I don't remember anyone voting you in the first time around," said Jounouchi. "I guess this job just goes to whoever has the balls to take it, right?"

An ugly sneer spread across Seto's face. Knowing the level of erudite, thespianic wit that often bounded between the two, Seto was probably planning to make some wounding remark about the precise dimensions of Jounouchi's own balls. He was cut short by Ryou clearing his throat.

"I don't think I need to be here," said Ryou, making to collect the papers from the desk. Jounouchi motioned for him to leave them there.

"Good point. Go," said Seto, stepping away from the door and gesturing for Ryou to pass. "We don't need your anemic errand boy getting in the way."

"As if. Whatever the hell you just called him, you take it back," said Jounouchi.

"I said he was pale. Fucking look at his face, you idiot. If I saw that guy wandering in a house, I'd think he was haunting it."

Jounouchi glowered. "You can leave Ryou out of it, okay? He's just here doing what I asked him to, you prick. Trying to keep this club going in case you never came back."

"Then take some advice," said Seto, this time directly to Ryou. "Make some new damn friends."

Ryou remained quiet throughout the exchange, no longer sure if he was supposed to leave or stay. He was aware the argument wasn't about him, and he could leave or stay at his own discretion. In reality, though, it stung to have his appearance and choice in friends so blatantly criticized to his face. He was sure to get plenty more of that treatment if he stuck around. An angry Seto Kaiba was not the most discerning when it came to attacking anything even remotely related to whatever had pissed him off. Ryou was definitely related to all of what was pissing him off at that very moment.

"Jounouchi has a point about you disappearing," said Ryou, supporting the only friend in the room he had. "I'm not arguing whether or not you were on a business trip all this time, but it's true that no-one really knew where you went. I think you should let this go. It was only a week or so, and everything's fine. No lasting damage was done. Everything can go back to normal now that you're back."

"Shut up or get out," snarled Seto. He point sharply to the door Ryou could kindly escort himself through. Ryou might've taken him up on the offer, except leaving would require walking within an arm's length of him, and Ryou didn't want to get anywhere near Seto.

"We're both leaving," declared Jounouchi with a decisiveness that worried Ryou. "Not just this room. We're quitting this whole goddamn joke of a club."

Ryou's eyes grew wide. "Perhaps that's a bit hasty—" he started, but was cut off by Seto's arrogant laugh.

"Good riddance," said Seto.

Finally, although Jounouchi remained behind, standing his ground, Ryou hurried out of the room. Fights between a sensitive Seto and a self-righteous Jounouchi were never going to be Ryou's forte. He saw now that supporting Jounouchi wasn't going to help, because Jounouchi and Seto weren't fighting a rational argument meant to reach a compromise or sway the other side. They were arguing to trumpet the sound of their own voices over each other in a war of who could hate the absolute loudest, and amidst that cacophony of nonsensical fighting words, there was no place for deliberately unobtrusive Ryou.

Instead, Ryou waited down the hall where he knew Jounouchi would pass by once he was done unloading and venting his frustrations of the past week onto Seto directly. To pass the time, Ryou pulled out a textbook and began to read. He figured if Jounouchi was about to get them both kicked out of the chess club, then he should utilize every waking moment form her on out to study. Without bonus points, eternal studying was to be his life, and he would finish his last year of high school as he had the last few months at his old school, isolated and withdrawn to his bedroom with books.

###### Notes:

Nothing. I was going to have Jounouchi use the word "modicum" at one point, but then I realized that if someone knows what a modicum is, they probably also know what "anemic" means. Damn.


	9. The Pitch

Ryou sat functionally alone in the classroom. At the desk was Seto, leaning back in the teacher's swivel chair and turning in slow half-circles, eyes fixed upwards to some unremarkable point of the ceiling. He hadn't said anything when Ryou entered the room, only glanced at him for less than a second and then resumed his somnolent vigil of the empty space above them. Slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb…whatever this was…Ryou took his newest chess notebook from his book bag and started highlighting.

The squeaky, wet scrape of Ryou's highlighter and the muted creaking of Seto's swiveling chair formed a sort of wordless exchange of coping mechanisms as each person strugged to deal with the knowledge that no-one else was there but them. Ryou dove headfirst into his books to escape. Seto drifted of to whatever passed for his happy place in the clouds, because a temporary departure there was better than a boundless rage directed towards empty rows of desks before him. Taking it out on Ryou, as he had momentarily done when Jounouchi had ascended the presidency of the club, would've been juvenile of him. Ryou was demonstrating support by being there, so if Seto huffed and puffed and slammed the door in his face, then Seto would be by himself.

"I'm curious," said Seto after nearly fifteen minutes passed in the meeting that was scheduled to take another forty-five. "Did you show up because you chose to? Or did you draw the short straw?"

"I'm sorry?" asked Ryou, looking up from his work. He capped the highlighter and placed it in the gutter of open his notebook.

"Or, are you here because somehow no-one told you Jounouchi got the team to boycott my meetings?" asked Seto.

"I came anyway," said Ryou. "I wasn't sent to read a list of demands or anything, if that's what you're thinking," he added. He motioned to his notebooks. "This here is the positions information you gave us two weeks ago. You said we'd go over questions four and five at the next meeting."

Ryou’s explanation quieted Seto for a moment. Seto wasn't entirely sure how to take this. On top of being the only member there, Ryou was also expecting the meeting to pick up where they'd left off. It disconcerted Seto to know that someone could be so deliberately delusional in their hopes for the best. But then, it was possible someone like this was the only kind of person who could stand to be friends with a delinquent terror like Jounouchi Katsuya in the first place.

"I didn't bring any of that with me," admitted Seto. He hadn't even thought to. The only reason he'd even show up to a meeting that he knew would be boycotted was to show a strong front. In the atmosphere of increased tensions following the failed tournament, Jounouchi's complaints about Seto had started to come off as viable to his teammates, and now they were all boycotting and telling Seto he was a cruel taskmaster who cared only for winning and not for the game.

"It's okay," said Ryou kindly and with enough understanding I’m his voice for Seto to want to strike him across the face for his nerve. No-one could assume they knew Seto Kaiba. Seto was a bottomless ocean shrouding a more complicated inner world than any seventeen-year-old could possibly comprehend. You didn't tell Seto things were okay; Seto told you as he laughed mercilessly at the prospect that you'd have thought things would've been anything but.

"Do you want to go over it?" asked Seto anyway, standing up from the teacher's desk and walking over.It didn't matter what Ryou's answer would've been, Seto was going to help him. Ryou had been right. This was a chess club meeting, and Seto would do as he promised two weeks ago. 

Steadfast in his roll as chess demi-god and confident in his ability to lead without notes, Seto calmly turned a chair from another desk to face Ryou's and sat down across from him. He took the question packet and opened it to numbers four and five. Then, in continued silence, he regarded the hastily scribble, half-formed responses it was fairly obvious Ryou must've put down between classes that very afternoon. He arched a brow.

"You had two weeks to do this," he said in disbelief, "and this is what you hand me? My twelve-year-old little brother writes better than this." He turned to Ryou who looked away sheepishly. "Reading every page of the packet is only half the work, Bakura. You have to bother to learn the information instead of memorizing a fraction of it to scribble down, or else you're wasting your time even reading it at all."

"I'm not good at this," said Ryou, fiddling with the loose highlighter lid as he rattled off an excuse he knew Seto wasn't going to accept. "I have to see it to get it, really, and I don't have a chess set at home. It's hard."

"You can buy any cheap set at the—" Seto started, but cut himself off as he slowly discerned meaning from the terrible handwriting and incomplete sentences scrawled over the page. Ryou's answers were lazily done, but they weren't completely terrible. Perhaps….

A spark of inspiration struck Seto as his gaze drifted beyond the packet and over the surface of the desk cluttered with more papers and notes.

"On second thought, I'll let you borrow one of mine," he said. "In fact, I'll even give you one."

Ryou grew still, looking up at Seto with an expression of mixed doubt and distrust. He couldn't figure out what was going on. There was no way for him to see whatever gears were spinning and plans were being formed in Seto's mind. Instead, Ryou’s simply sat there, quiet and confused, waiting.

"I'm going to train you to play chess," said Seto. He made it clear with his tone that Ryou had little choice in the matter. "I'm going to make you the best chess player in this entire school district. Maybe even this city. Perhaps the entire country."

"Heh. That's a stretch," said Ryou, lightly laughing out his anxiety over the insane thing Seto had just said. "Are you joking?"

"You're going to wish I were," said Seto, taking up Ryou's chess notebook and turning the pages to see what he had to work with. "We've got a lot to cover, and it won't be easy, but you'll do it, because I can offer you something not even being in chess club can guarantee you."

"What is that?" asked Ryou, intrigued and a little afraid.

Seto smirked and turned a few more pages, tickled himself over how irresistible an offer it would be.

"A free ride," he said.

###### Notes:

None on the actual chapter.


	10. Everyone Gets an A

Before Ryou could begin working with with Seto, he had to sign a confidentiality agreement stating he wouldn’t reveal to anyone else in the school that his grades were now almost entirely works of fiction. Ryou would still attend school, just as Seto attended school despite having a similar arrangement for himself, but he no longer had to try very hard while there. 

Seto, proving the old maxim that money was power, personally summoned each department head at Domino High, as well as Ryou’s classroom teachers, in order to notify them formally that, like any serious practitioner of any specialized sport, from now on Ryou Bakura was going to have to focus more on training than schoolwork. While Seto held back from suggesting the teachers invent quality where there was none, he did request they use a much more lenient hand when marking, and turn the occasional blind eye to projects they might suspect Ryou hadn’t actually done himself.

For all the times Ryou had speculated with his friends about how Seto could do well at school and run a billion dollar company simultaneously, Ryou now knew the ugly secret. Academic security didn’t come cheap, either, though Seto had been able to negotiate the price down to something closer to what him himself paid just on the promise of the tremendous potential Ryou supposedly had. Seto spun a fantastic story about Ryou being a great, intuitive player, a diamond in the rough that needed to be cultivated by fire into the brilliant player it was destined Ryou would be. With practiced ease, Seto shuffled through this and others of his most effusive metaphors and persuasive arguments, like the perfect combination of cards in a Magic & Wizards duel, until those listening were literally shaking his hand and thanking him for the opportunity to lie for him. 

Ryou, who’d been sitting silently beside Seto for the entire meeting, was more than slightly mortified witnessing the dark inner workings of his once trusted school establishment. The English department head, who Ryou had practically never spoken to in his life, told him in passing that he’d always known Ryou was a bright, passionate student with a lot of latent potential. His math teacher said she’d always known he was promising in chess, though she hadn’t even known he was in the chess club. Every one of them was caught up in Seto’s contagious vision of the future. Even Ryou felt a bit lifted off his feet and carried away with his own apparent greatness. However, it took about two seconds with Seto to bring him crashing right back down.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” warned Seto as the teachers and administrators finished filing out of the room. “There isn’t really any such thing as true, innate genius when it comes to chess. There is only hard work and continuous study. It’s nothing but a goddamn game after all.”

Deflated so abruptly by Seto’s harsh, unfeeling words, Ryou was slow to ask the question he’d originally turned to Seto for.

“What if someone finds out you’re paying for me to get good grades?”

Seto shrugged without pausing as he collected his briefcase. “I’ll pay them to keep their mouths shut,” he said.

“And if they haven’t got a price?” asked Ryou.

Seto’s expression darkened. “I’ll _make_ them keep their mouths shut.”

This was assurance enough for Ryou, who quickly backed off of the topic.

In order to make the true nature of their new arrangement a little less obvious, Seto officially hired a tutor for Ryou. This was to explain Ryou’s improved grades, as well as the drastic cutting down of social time that he was about to suffer. At the same time, Seto made no secret that he was going to personally train Ryou to play chess, since a large part of his motivation for doing so was to show up the rest of the chess team by making Ryou the best player they’d ever witnessed. Each one of them, Jounouchi foremost of all, would sorely rue the day they’d dared to challenge Seto’s authority. And yet, he remained extremely discreet about offering details that might reveal just how much training Ryou would actually be undergoing. Even though Seto himself never failed to contend that learning chess was hard work requiring hours of rigorous study, he still wanted it to look like goddamn magic when Ryou transformed.

The ball really got to rolling the second week after Ryou agreed to become Seto’s pupil. At last, he arrived to his first lesson at KaibaCorp headquarters, where Seto had put aside a small, unused conference room for them on the twelfth floor. In Ryou’s left hand, he carried the Italian leather briefcase Seto had assigned him to keep his materials. The chess lessons were to be a professional operation, naturally, and Seto would have it look as such. Appearances were half as good as results in the business world, and that was a creed Seto lived by through his power-fashion and exaggerated public persona.

“First, we’re going to ensure you have a strong foundation,” announced Seto while handing Ryou yet another large packet of stapled papers. Seto loved nothing as much as paperwork and hated nothing as much as trees. “This is an exam. Leave it with my secretary when you’re done.”

Ryou wasn’t enthusiastic. He’d expected more chess and fewer worksheets, and sighed as Seto left him in room alone. Having no other choice, Ryou pulled up a chair and opened the exam packet to the first page. In a small cup in the middle of the long meeting table, there was a supply of pencils, each perfectly sharpened and bundled together. Ryou took one and placed it behind his ear. Doing made him feel more confident and clear-thinking, because he imagined he looked the part. Judging by the size of the exam, he might be there for a while, and he needed every small motivation he could think of to assure himself that he was up for the task.

Two hours passed in the quiet, empty meeting room. At one point the secretary arrived to check on him and ask him if he needed anything. Outside the door, people spoke and typed loudly on keyboards, going about their normal workdays without any idea Ryou was there. The meeting room wasn’t at all like the ones he’d seen in movies with glass walls and blinds to shut him out of view. It was just a small room at the end of a hall, a few doors removed from a set of bathrooms and a drinking fountain. For all the glitz and power the KaibaCorp building exuded outside, the interior could be remarkably plain.

Seto arrived once more at the start of the third hour with a coffee in one hand and a chessboard under his arm. He seemed surprised to discover Ryou still there, and asked mockingly if he’d fallen asleep before. Ryou promised he hadn’t, but was pretty sure Seto didn’t believe him based on the most judgmental of looks that was immediately cast in his direction.

“You do realize this is only the beginning, right?” asked Seto as he stored the chessboard and chess set in a cabinet against the back wall. “Skip through and answer what you know first, at least.”

“I already have,” said Ryou in despair. “Perhaps it would be easier to split things into manageable chunks? Give it a few days?”

“This exam has on it everything you’ve supposedly learned in the past few months,” said Seto. “I based most of it on your own notes. You’ve seen this before.”

“Seen and haven’t look at since,” sighed Ryou.

“Well, you’re not going to leave until you’ve attempted to answer each problem,” said Seto. “And I mean really attempt, not just throw down something just to make it look like work’s been done. You’ll stay here as long as it takes.”

Ryou, who’s been slipping down further in his seat as a tremendous sense of lethargy consumed him, sat up. He was both shocked and dismayed at the implication of what Seto has said. 

“You...you can possibly keep me here all night?”

“I will literally lock you in this room before I go home if I have to,” said Seto. “I have a key.”

“But we have school!” Ryou protested. “I can’t be up all night doing this.”

“Feel free to sleep at your desk all day tomorrow; you’ll still pass,” said Seto.

Ryou, not for the first time and assuredly not for the last, questioned what he was getting himself into. He wanted badly to do well in school, and that had definitely been a deciding factor, but more than that he wanted to demonstrate that he could be reliable, a man of his word. He saw Seto allowing him to stay in the chess club, even though he’d forced Ryou to join the team against his will, as sign of a deeper, more patient and restrained nature than people might normally give Seto credit for. Seto had offered Ryou the opportunity prove he was more than just someone who simply got by and didn’t do work, because for the team’s sake Seto had needed to give Ryou a chance, and this rare magnanimous side of Seto had convinced Ryou of his conviction to truly improving their school’s chess reputation. 

It was because of his belief in Seto’s good intentions and effort that, when everyone else had turned away from Seto, Ryou had still dared to attend the boycotted meeting. Plus, Ryou had always been softhearted and didn’t think Jounouchi was being totally fair by attacking Seto while he was down. Seto needed someone on his side, and perhaps Ryou had to be that person, since no-one else appeared to be stepping up.

“I’ll get it done,” said Ryou with new resolve. He took up the exam and pulled the waiting pencil from behind his ear. Seto nodded in approval and left, no further comment necessary.

With a deep breath, Ryou started writing. In another hour and a half he was finally finished and left the exam with the secretary before trudging blearily home to skip his dinner and go directly to bed. It was the first of many such long days, he knew. Seto Kaiba was just getting started.

###### Notes:

...


	11. Training Montage

Ryou lay on the floor of the meeting room, gazing up at the projection on the wall like a child counting the stars. Standards for behavior had grown lax as studying chess with Seto had become as routine for Ryou as brushing his teeth in the morning. Lazily, Ryou pried open the mini-fridge with his toes and tried to remove a bottle of soda using only his sock-covered feet. Seto rolled his eyes at him, but Ryou felt zero shame. Seto rolled his eyes so often the gesture now meant nothing to him.

"If you're going to be distracted lying down on the floor, either use one of your ten-minute breaks, or sit in a damn chair," said Seto with an exasperated sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly where he sat, hunched over on a tall stool next to the projection board. On the days when Seto had to get up often to write, he opted for a stool instead of a chair, since it was easier to move on and off of. Every day since he'd first attempted it three days ago, Ryou opted for the floor, because sitting on the floor made him fell at home in the meeting room. It was only natural. By now he knew the room as well as his own apartment.

"You could use a ten-minute break," said Ryou, using his heel to kick the fallen water bottle up towards his hand.

"I don't need a break," said Seto. "Stop goofing around or I'll move the fridge away from you. Remind me to tell Director Kim not to put anything of hers in there in the future, seeing how you just stuck your feet in it."

"You said it was my fridge," said Ryou. "No-one else should be touching it anyway."

"All right, yeah, you're clearly just wasting time because you're bored. Let's get back to reviewing positions, and I'll pretend I'm not seeing this," said Seto, pressing a button on the remote control to change slides.

In a flash, Ryou was facing the ominously titled "dragon" opening for black. He quickly rattled off its name, why it could be a good start, and the more obvious risks to keep in mind while using it. Seto nodded along, absently adjusting his rolled up sleeves. Today was a slow, mind-numbing review session before moving on to a new unit of study, and Ryou and Seto were both suffering a little for it. Seto hated it because nothing felt more like a Sisyphean struggle than watching Ryou recite what he'd learned the week before perfectly, but then draw complete blanks at information he'd covered barely a month ago when he was only taking lessons with the team. Ryou, meanwhile, hated it because when he didn't get something right, Seto got mad at him.

"We've got fifteen more slides," said Seto. "Pick up the pace. Your tutor will be here in ten minutes."

Ryou yawned so hard there were tears in his eyes afterwards, but managed a bleary nod to show he'd heard. He sat up and drank a few invigorating mouthfuls of cool water before taking a stab at the next question, a tactical puzzle involving finding the best two moves for black. Ryou tried to find the pattern quickly, recalling that Seto had said he'd start timing Ryou on this in the future. He'd already attempted to time him earlier that week, but Ryou had turned out to be something of a spaz when put under pressure and choked so badly that Seto decided it was best to put time restrictions off for a while longer.

They were still four slides short of a complete review when the tutor arrived, but Seto allowed them to stop there. He grabbed his coat and left with a quick nod of salutation to the tutor. Seto still had a company to run, and Ryou still had to have some idea of what was going on in school. Even though Ryou's grades were now much more forgiving, he still had to make a moderate show of effort in his classroom assignments to stay on the teachers' good graces. Currently they could tell themselves they were just helping out and being understanding, but if Ryou started seriously underperforming, they'd start feeling used, and then they'd suddenly develop a moral stance on the rigorousness of their grading standards.

Ryou now had a few tutors, one for math and science, another for language and social studies, and a third devoted to chess theory for the days when Seto didn't have time. Ryou tried his best to be a good student, knowing it would reflect poorly on Seto if he didn't do well. He was polite and agreeable and made more effort than he normally would have. In a classroom he could safely disappear amidst twenty other students, but with tutors he was the only one there. At first he was unhappy with it, but inevitably he'd learned to accept it. Seto wouldn't listen to him insist tutors were unnecessary anyway.

Ryou’s original full schedule of tutors and chess lessons meant he saw much less of his friends. Jounouchi had proclaimed they were no longer on speaking terms anyway, but continued to talk to him anyway because he needed someone to complain about the chess club to. Seto had taken a step back from his previous hands-on running of the club and the team. Amid protests and criticisms that he was abandoning his players, he'd coldly replied that the team members had made their point clear already. While Seto still sporadically attended team meetings and hired coaches for chess classes, he no longer made the team's radical improvement his personal responsibility. Instead, he elected Jounouchi as team captain and dropped him, stranded and without much experience, directly into the middle of a mess he figured Jounouchi himself had made.

Jounouchi and Ryou ran into each other during chess team meetings twice a week, but Ryou had stopped attending the general club meetings along with Seto. It was the first block of time Seto had put aside for training, since it was guaranteed Ryou would be free. By keeping Ryou busy and away from the chess club, Seto created a situation where Ryou had very little unsupervised interaction between him and Jounouchi for the first few weeks, as Seto feared Jounouchi might persuade Ryou to do something stupid and academically suicidal like stop training. Only on the weekend could they see each other freely, and even then only when Seto hadn't assigned Ryou too much homework.

It hadn’t been long before Jounouchi was openly criticizing Ryou for how he spent his time, saying that Seto was isolating him so he could be controlled and brainwashed more easily. Ryou admitted he did miss hanging out with his friends, and brought it up to Seto. He promised not to fall behind in his studying, and after nearly a week of pleading, Seto finally responded by altering their schedule to give Ryou more free time in the week. The catch was that Ryou would now have to train on weekends as well. Effectively, Ryou was studying chess in some form or another every single day, either with Seto or with a tutor. It was enough to boggle the mind, but it ended up improving Ryou's retention, since he didn't have whole weekends in which to relax and let all the knowledge drip out of his ears or whatever it did in the forty-eight hours of life between Friday and Monday.

Ryou also became extremely familiar with Seto Kaiba—in a purely chessic capacity, of course. He was by no means close to Seto as a person, as they retained a distant, formal, teacher and student relationship despite having the same age. Ryou did realize little things, though, like once while flipping channels and passing a commercial for an upcoming Magic & Wizards tournament, he'd recognized Seto by his hands before the camera even panned to his face. He was also fairly intimate with Seto's small expressions of suppressed frustration, which flared up at times when Ryou forgot obvious concepts of chess play or failed to notice relatively simple, long-since memorized tactical patterns. Luckily, with the now daily training regimen, these instances became fewer and further apart until Seto himself even begrudgingly admitted that he would probably have to thank Jounouchi for inspiring Ryou to change their schedule.

Not even being sick and unwilling to leave his bed exempted Ryou from chess study. In addition to lessons, Seto always had readings prescribed which he expected Ryou to progress through at a reasonable pace. Some days all Ryou did was read, only seeing Seto at the end of the week when Seto quizzed him about what he'd read and asked if he'd had any trouble with the material. 

Now, team meetings for Ryou were often spent in the back of the room, tackling a book or supplementary worksheets while the rest of the team learned lessons he'd been forced to master weeks beforehand. Jounouchi warned Ryou that he was starting to come off as aloof to his teammates, who were bitter that Ryou was still classified as a substitute on the team despite having become one of the most knowledgeable players there. It seemed as if Seto only sent Ryou to meetings for the board practice, and that Ryou was a member of the chess team in name only. Everyone knew that what he really played for was not the team, but Seto Kaiba.

Ryou wasn't comfortable with the jealousy and contempt directed towards him. He was naturally a friendly, outgoing person who did his best to make everyone happy. Seto told him it would've been foolish of him to think there'd be no repercussions to getting better than everyone. Some people tied a lot of their self-esteem into their chess performance, and it was offensive to them that someone as average as Ryou was doing well just because he had the right coach. Pride was a very delicate thing, and it was exactly the emotion Seto was hoping to use against those who'd doubted and gossiped about him. Ryou knew what he'd signed up for, Seto insisted, and it was far too late to chicken out now. Plus, Ryou would do well to keep in mind that if Seto could pay people to make Ryou pass his classes, he could easily pay them to do the exact opposite. Ryou didn't need to hear any more than this, and quickly learned it was better to just keep his inner turmoil and anxiety to himself.

But, while Ryou was resolute and resigned to his fate, his friends didn't always greet the change quite so unquestioningly. Occasionally, they even expressed concern for him, believing that somehow Seto had bullied Ryou into going along with his plans. For this image of Ryou as a victim to work, though, they had to pointedly strive to overlook the fact that a lot of what had happened so far had been Ryou's own fault in the first place for trying to be empathetic and helpful. Seto wasn't doing anything that Ryou hadn't sat back and let him do in the first place.

"Aren't you afraid you'll burn out with your new schedule?" asked Anzu, newly concerned for Ryou after he'd made a comment about how he was studying mating tactics and opening schemes so much he'd started to dream in chess figures. Ryou had meant it in jest as sort of a light-hearted jab at his new, obsessive hobby, but Anzu had taken it another way.

"Not really," said Ryou, worriedly trying to calm her unanticipated concern. They were in the middle of lunch break, a break Ryou was now free to spend with his friends because of the aforementioned new schedule. This meant the new schedule was a good thing, really. "Seto's a surprisingly engaging teacher. I mean, it's not like I don't get tired of chess. Some days I don't want to study. But, I'm not about to give up on the game. How else am I going to improve?"

"But you're being worked to death," she said. "You practice every single day now, right?"

"I'm not being worked that hard. In fact, my new schedule is way easier," said Ryou. He wanted to assure her everything was fine. It troubled him to think she was so worried about him. "Also, I can always take breaks. I can even take entire days off if I need to. Last week I took a day off to go with you and Yuugi to the zoo. Remember?"

"But Seto probably made you stay later to make up the time," she said. She didn't have the highest opinion of Seto in regards to him being anything like a responsible coach. She probably imagined they trained in a dungeon cell by torchlight, Ryou chained to a wall until he proved he could pull off a successful double check.

"He didn't, I swear," said Ryou. He was telling the truth. As Ryou got better, Seto became much more lenient in policing his free time. At the end of the day, Ryou had managed to learn something like improved self-discipline from his new regimen, and that was a good thing. The benefits of studying chess were not often tangible ones, but they were still very real. Convincing others of this was another matter, though. "Like, I'm not about to take en entire week off without a good reason," he explained further, "but I'm not constrained to some superhuman, draconian study program, either. There's plenty of room for compromise."

"He has a point, Anzu," said Yuugi, coming to Ryou's defense at last. "Kaiba runs an entire company. He has to know how to be realistic when it comes to managing people."

In his and Ryou's group of mutual friends, Yuugi had always been the only one to consider Seto more than just an angry, pressurized jar of tyranny ready to flip is lid at the slightest provocation. He was often reminding everyone that in a past life, Seto had been both competent and a good person, and it wasn't crazy to consider him to still be a few of those things now. Jounouchi always grumbled at this and insisted past lives had no bearing whatsoever on current ones if you couldn't actively remember them. If some magic artifact told Jounouchi that he'd been a throat-slitting, diabolical pirate in his past life, was he supposed to go home and start sharpening knives? All Seto Kaiba cared about was winning and his little brother, and in that exact order, too, because there hadn't even been a damn Mokuba in his past life anyway.

"Don't worry, Anzu, the hard part of learning to play is over," said Ryou reassuringly. "Now I just learn details to add on to my repertoire and improve my moves."

"Well, do you still even need to study if you know how to play now?" asked Anzu. Both Ryou and Yuugi laughed at the idea that the intricate study of games ever fully ended.

"I'm not as good as Kaiba or Yuugi," said Ryou. "I have a lot more to learn."

"Are you sure you aren't as good as me?" asked Yuugi with a grin. "We should play again one day. If Kaiba's as good of a coach as he likes to think he is, then you should be pretty great now."

"That sounds fun," said Ryou, intentionally avoiding outright agreeing to play or not. He still remembered how embarrassingly Yuugi had beaten him in the past. No matter how well he could recite basic openings and tactics at this stage, Ryou didn't suspect anything had changed between him and Yuugi in terms of playing strength. Yuugi would always know more than anyone in any game.

"I'm kind of stuck, actually," Ryou confessed after a moment. "You see, I tend to do well playing against the players on the chess team, but I'm nowhere near as good as you or Kaiba. There aren't many people I can play against who can help me get better."

"You should start playing in tournaments," said Yuugi enthusiastically. "That would be cool. Tournaments are great to improve yourself."

"No, Yuugi! You're just giving him more work to do," said Anzu, rolling her eyes. "As if he isn't overworked enough."

However. Yuugi wasn't the only one with this plan in mind. The same idea seemed to have occurred to Seto as well over the next few days. On Friday, Ryou showed up to the meeting room for his lesson to find Seto there and waiting for him. This was new, as Seto usually let Ryou relax and get ready for the first ten minutes before joining him. Today, however, Seto was at the table with a few piles of stapled papers already prepared.

"I remember once you told me that you weren't very competitive," said Seto after Ryou had taken his seat across the table.

"Basically," said Ryou, a little embarrassed as he remembered the day Seto had made him join the chess team. Those days now seemed like another life. Now, his life had turned into chess and little else.

"I think it's time we addressed that," said Seto, passing one of the piles of papers to Ryou over the table. "We're going to have you start competing. The first tournament is next weekend, so don't make any plans for Saturday."

"Are these forms?" asked Ryou, looking them over in astonishment.

"What else do they look like? Yes, they're forms. We're going to fill them out together," said Seto as he clicked a pen and handed it to Ryou as well, "and I'm going to need you to listen very, very carefully and copy down exactly what I tell you."

###### Notes:

[1] This note isn't directly in the chapter. I just want to say that this chapter is a "training montage" because I'm not going to make you guys suffer all the precise details of Seto's Kaiba's chess curriculum. I'm going for a background eau of chess--a chessic ambiance, if you will--so you don't have to worry if you don't know what people [people mostly being Seto honestly] are talking about when they mention specific chess stuff. I'm never going to give you any blow-by-blow matches to follow. Think of chapter 5, where Seto and Ryou played. That's about as detailed as any "important" matches will be.


	12. Crown City Tournament

"I'm having a bit of hard time believing it's not against the rules to play with a fake name," said Ryou. "Or, you know, while in disguise."

Seto had nothing left to say on the topic. Ryou had been expressing his misgivings about Seto's plan from the start, when Seto had made him fill out and submit his applications with false information written under Seto's guidance. The reason, Seto said, was that people knew Seto had a pupil, and a few maybe even knew Ryou's name, so it would affect his results if people knew he was competing. People would either come at him with something to prove, or flake without offering much of a fight. Ryou would only see his opponents' true competence level if he played under an alternate identity.

According to Seto, there was little to worry about. It wasn't likely Ryou would be much of a threat to anyone, and there was no risk of him winning his division. He'd play a few matches, learn the ropes, and eventually hit a wall he couldn't surpass. After that, rinse and repeat; he and Seto would replicate the procedure at the next junior tournament in another week. All until Seto was convinced Ryou knew how to compete and use what he'd learned in the heat of battle.

To better ensure the ruse wasn't found out, Seto and Ryou were travelling to other cities for tournaments. While it wasn't Ryou's first time ever taking a helicopter to go anywhere, he was amazed at how recurrent an option they were when one travelled in the company of Seto Kaiba. Going by air, they arrived at Crown City in less than an hour. There, Ryou met with a stylist who spent twenty minutes merely flattening his hair into a messy bun and putting glasses on him. This meager disguise didn't seem as much as it should've been if they were supposed to be going incognito, but Seto had said it was more than enough. Seto was one to speak, though. He was wearing a green mustache and a matching wig, both of which combined resulted in something Ryou would've considered a "real" disguise. Ryou wouldn't have known Seto in a crowd, and probably would've called him "sir" if he'd walked into him. When Ryou asked if a mustache was truly necessary, Seto explained that it was important he look older than Ryou, since he was to play the role of Ryou's coach.

The tournament itself was on the small side. It was local, with only about five or six rows of tables as far as Ryou had time to count before he was directed where to go. Seto was hoping the more relaxed atmosphere would help Ryou focus more on playing and less on being found out. Ryou wasn't sure it was having the intended effect, since he felt like he stood out even more when there was much less of a crowd to disappear into.

Ryou took his assigned seat after a floor director indicated where his first match would be. He smiled pleasantly, and his opponent smiled slightly back. So far, so good, Ryou supposed. He looked about him for Seto, who was standing along a wall at the opposite side of the long room with a crowd of visiting adults and family members. Ryou caught his eye and waved to him as the non-players were asked to leave for the first round to commence. Seto nodded stiffly in acknowledgment of Ryou's wave before leaving, and for a moment Ryou imagined Seto really was his crotchety middle-aged coach here to advise him between his matches. Seto had proven incredibly believable in the role so far.

After a few short formalities, the match began. Ryou, having thus far only played against people he knew, had no idea what to expect and felt as if his mind were slowly going blank. His best-rehearsed openings escaped him, and he ended up developing a few pieces out of order of how Seto normally would've advised him to. His opponent was quick to take advantage of this and rob the initiative from him [1]. Following this, Ryou's play rapidly devolved into a reserved panic, grasping desperately for some form of cohesion as it progressed. Inevitable blunders occurred as his nerve neatly broke, and Ryou was soon driven into a solely reactionary position as his opponent dominated and set the pace.

Although Ryou'd been hoping to maybe prove Seto wrong, he was indeed underperforming in his very first round. It was exactly as Seto had told him before they'd even started training for this tournament. But, although Seto'd been trying to prepare Ryou for this, knowing it would happen didn't necessarily make it that much easier for Ryou. What hurt Ryou the most as he faced the loss was knowing he knew much better than what he was currently demonstrating. And yet, it was clear all of Ryou's hours of studying and practice came out to little on the chessboard when faced with an adversary he didn't personally know.

The experience further reinforced the advice Seto had always given him to play the board and not the player. The problem was, Ryou could never stop thinking about the other player. Until now the other player had always been a friend or a classmate of his, so, he'd always had an idea of how to play or what to start with. But, with a stranger across from him, Ryou couldn't easily decide what to do. Suddenly, winning seemed far away and impossible, as distant and alien to him as his silent opponent across the board.

Ryou met Seto after the first round, dejected and reeling from his embarrassing defeat. Seto said nothing, just held out his hand for Ryou to give him the record Ryou'd written down in his notebook.

"You're not making this easy for me," said Seto, narrowing his eyes at the paper. "You know we're going to be here for at least six more hours, right? I don't want to see this," he waved the notebook at Ryou, "for six more hours."

"I froze," said Ryou ruefully. "I didn't know what to do."

"Then let's give you something to do," said Seto, bringing over his briefcase from the chair next to him and motioning for Ryou to take a seat. They began calmly going over openings for the next fifteen minutes on a magnetic travel set until Ryou was called for his next round. He went wearily, scuffling his feet and insisting up and down he wasn't cut out to be a real gamesman. Seto remained deaf to his protests and returned to reading the book he'd brought along with him to pass the time.

Ryou won his next match, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was doing better, or because his opponent was more of a disorganized mess than he was. Maybe Ryou was just better at recognizing disorganized messes across the board from him when he played black? Or maybe playing badly made his opponent more human and thus fallible and someone he could defeat? Whatever the reason, Ryou had won, though he didn't feel particularly great about himself for it. He couldn't be sure if winning wasn't perhaps worse than losing, since the uneasy, drained expression weighing on his opponent' brow as she realized Ryou was going to win made Ryou feel bad about it. The girl didn't know she was playing against an adversary wrought from Seto Kaiba's vengeful pride and favorite chess moves. It simply wasn't fair.

"Are you even trying?" asked Seto, looking over the new results. "You blew a checkmate that was right in front of you. You had your rook's support already there, your queen was just one move away from winning the match. You could've done it in twelve turns, and yet you dragged it out to _eighty_."

"I couldn't believe I was winning so soon," said Ryou, struggling to explain what exactly had gone through his mind when he'd missed the first obvious checkmate. "The moment she castled, I saw it. That's why I brought my queen over. But…I just couldn't believe it was really happening." [2]

Seto ran a finger over his pasted mustache, considering the notebook and Ryou's words carefully. "Then perhaps we need to go over basic mating tactics again so you don't overthink it," he said quietly to himself. He sighed and handed the notebook back. "Let's see how the next round goes."

On one hand, Ryou hadn't truly expected Seto to praise much him for winning. On the other hand, he figured even a cursory congratulation was the courteous and thoughtful thing to do. With Seto, however, even winning was not enough when it came littered with so many humiliating missteps.

The rest of the tournament inched by without reprieve. Ryou managed a draw in his next match before losing each succeeding round for the rest of the afternoon. Surprisingly, Seto became more relaxed despite Ryou's deteriorating performance, noting that Ryou at least wasn't losing as excruciatingly as he had before. His strategies even made sense, although they couldn't overcome the strength of his opponents'. In all, Seto deemed the experience not to be a total failure. This was better than nothing, and they boarded the helicopter home that evening in relatively good spirits, bound for KaibaCorp.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Seto as Ryou attempted to part ways with him outside Seto's office. He reached out and grabbed Ryou by the shoulder, before he'd made it out of reach, and forced him around and through the door ahead of him.

"I'm sorry," Ryou apologized quickly. "I just thought we were done for the day."

"No," said Seto. "There's still the debrief. We're going over these results while they're fresh."

"But its dinnertime," said Ryou. "You only gave me an energy bar for lunch. I'm starving."

"Here," said Seto, reaching in his coat pocket and holding out two more energy bars. Ryou made a face at the offer and turned it down.

"It's clear to me how you've become so lean despite sitting at a desk all day," said Ryou, eyeing the energy bars distrustfully. "This isn't food to me. I can't operate like this. Sorry."

"Fine. Then we'll go downstairs to where your snacks are," said Seto, pocketing the bars once more and motioning for Ryou to come out of the office. He hadn't even had the chance to turn the lights on before they were already leaving.

Ryou felt for all the world like an errant pet or small child that Seto was expected to babysit as he followed after, both glum and chastised. They made their way to the elevator together and down further to the nearly empty twelfth floor where the meeting room was located. Most of the office workers were gone, since the workday had already finished. Ryou looked about without comment, familiar with the sight he'd seen a few times already when he'd stayed late doing a review with Seto or one of the tutors (though to be honest, nine times out of the ten it was Seto because the tutors had families and lives to get to). Now wasn't even the latest Ryou had been at KaibaCorp, though he tried not to make a habit of staying until after nightfall. Walking through the city at night wasn't an option for him, and he disliked having to bother Seto to arrange transportation. However, it looked like tonight would be one of those bothersome nights where he'd end up doing so. He had the impression Seto was going to have him sticking around for at least two more hours.

Ryou kept his head down and shuffled over to the refrigerator after Seto unlocked the meeting room door. He collected a few juices and soft drinks, stacking them carefully on the table before turning back for some packaged foods. This haul was only slightly better than energy bars, since, while it won out in regards to sheer bulk, the energy bars probably contained better nutrition. If Ryou had been interested in nutrition, however, he would've asked Seto's secretary to stock the fridge with salads or something. Still, in a token of amicability, he politely asked Seto for one of the remaining two bars to help round out the meal.

"If you don't tell my dad I eat potato chip for dinner with you, I won't tell him either," said Ryou, trying to lighten the mood with some humor. He failed. Seto was suffering something of a dearth of patience at the moment. Ryou was likewise exhausted, but, regardless of the fact that neither of them was in a state, Seto was convinced now what the opportune moment for some revision.

"Don't touch anything with your greasy fingers," Seto warned him. "The custodial staff has already been through here while we were gone at the tournament."

Ryou nodded as he continued to snack. The energy bar was the least appetizing dish of his junk food banquet, so he forced himself to get that over with after finishing the first impulsive bag of potato chips.

"We'll start in ten minutes," said Seto, unwrapping the second energy bar. The quick, few seconds it took him to consume this meager meal debunked years of rumors that Seto subsisted solely on ambition and the tears of his vanquished foes. Occasionally, he also ate meal supplements, which were better suited for feeding his biological vessel than they were his ego.

"I've pulled up your notes on mating tactics, and I want you to review them before we start some problems," said Seto. He opened and handed Ryou a packet with a wet towelette inside to clean his fingers, and then handed him a tablet with the information already pulled up. "Skim it. It's twenty pages. If you're having trouble, we need to start adding these basic tactics back to our curriculum."

Ryou took the tablet and began scrolling with his clean hand while continuing to feed himself snacks with the other. Seto was filing away the notes he'd typed from the tournament into the pertinent folders, marking areas of improvement and strategizing a few ways to include the material in their repertoire. Finished, he set up a board between him and Ryou, displaying Ryou's notes from his best and worst matches so that they could be recreated after a quick tactics review. For the review, he laid out the pieces to coincide with a chess problem from a list Ryou had studied before. When Ryou finished skimming the information on the tablet, Seto challenged him to solve it.

"You haven't been doing terrible at solving the problems in your books," said Seto after introducing the practice, "but perhaps you aren't used to recognizing the moves when you're looking at a chessboard. It could be we've been relying on two-dimensional illustrations too much, which means this could be an easy fix of just letting you manipulate physical pieces more."

"And then we're going to review all my matches?" asked Ryou sadly, not looking forward to spending all night here. Seto happened to be looking directly at him as he said this, although Ryou was too busy staring at the pieces on the board to notice. Ryou's tone and the forlorn expression on his face caused Seto to pause for a moment, reconsidering his approach. It had indeed been a long day full of new experiences and endless stress for Ryou. Seto wasn't gifted with a strong sense of empathy for others, but he did recognize that Ryou was exhausted. More importantly, though, he recognized that Ryou was exhausted, and yet Ryou was still here, still trying to study because Seto had told him to.

"We'll do that tomorrow," said Seto, surprising Ryou who looked up at him uncertainly. "You can come in late, after lunch, instead of the usual time. You'll have time to recuperate."

"Uh, thanks," said Ryou, slightly touched at Seto being so uncharacteristically understanding, but also confused by the sudden change. Hadn't Seto just set up Ryou's recorded matches so they could go over them next?

"You don't have to thank me," said Seto. He wasn't being modest. He was literally commanding Ryou not to thank him. "This isn't a favor. Forcing you to come here early in the morning while you're tired would just be a waste of our time."

"I still appreciate it."

"Why? I'm not here to overwork you until you burn out," said Seto. He seemed mad Ryou would've thought him capable of doing otherwise. "Chess isn't easy when you play it at the level I'm going to get you to. But, a horse that's been worked to death isn't going to make the race. In four months, I want you and the chess team to compete again, and at that time I want you to stand out ahead of not only the entire team team, but also everyone in your section. You will make a meteoric rise up the ranks until there is no doubt that I trained you to be one of the absolute best, and that you are."

Ryou gulped nervously before summoning a resolute nod. "I'll try not to let you down," he said, fighting the urge to momentarily back away from Seto in some subconscious effort to shirk his responsibility by visibly shying away from it. This was always his reaction whenever Seto reminded him how great of a player Seto expected him to become.

"So, how many moves am I supposed to have the check in here?" Ryou asked, pulling his chair up by a little and refocusing on the board. "I'm ready now."

###### Notes:

[1] I feel like I need to stop being lazy and add more notes on these kinds of things, soooo: In chess, "having the initiative" means having the lead, or being in the position to control the match and determine what happens. Normally White starts with an advantage because White gets to go first, which means White automatically starts with the initiative.  
[2] True story


	13. Pleased to Make Your Re-acquaintance

More than an hour had passed but the pouring rain hadn't ceased its onslaught. Ryou checked his watch anxiously, feeling uncomfortable in the increasing cold and wet. Mokuba Kaiba wasn't nearly as punctual as his older brother, and the delay was costing them precious time they should've spent getting ready.

"Wow, you're early!" exclaimed Mokuba, exiting the car that had just pulled up. "Why didn't you go inside and get us a table?"

"I don't really know where we're going," said Ryou. "Your brother told me to meet you here."

"Oh," said Mokuba. "I guess he thought it was implied. We're going to the café."

Ryou turned and looked at the shop front window Mokuba indicated behind him, only just noticing it. The café was named Roque's, and on the door was a schedule listing friendly evening chess meet-ups for all ages. Mokuba ushered him through the door and across the main floor to find a spare table. It was difficult work. The place wasn't crowded, but many people were using the available space to place coats and prop umbrellas. Mokuba eventually told a woman and her boyfriend to move their things off a small side table, telling them they were downright inconsiderate to keep a whole table just for a backpack and a purse. Ryou smiled apologetically to them both and thanked them for the table before helping Mokuba drag it a good distance away.

Seto had enlisted Mokuba to help him train Ryou since the beginning of their collaboration, as he considered Mokuba to be something of his very first student and an expert in Seto's chess playing ideology. Mokuba, while having a greater knowledge of chess than Ryou and being a more competent player overall, wasn't very passionate about the game. He liked games with monsters and flashy tricks, not cerebral exercises that seemed to always go more or less the same way every time he played (as in he usually won, and it was usually boring for him). Still, he was willing to help, since he respected Yuugi's friends and wanted to assist Seto. At least his chess skill wouldn't go to waste.

Despite having a twelve-year-old telling him what to do, Ryou was very obliging to the arrangement. The only drawback of Mokuba's help was that Mokuba and Seto occasionally clashed in their opinion of what was more important for a player to focus on. Mokuba believed in a competitive, sink-or-swim, battle-hardening approach, whereas Seto believed there wasn't any problem you couldn't face so long as you'd had the adequate training beforehand. Ryou supposed the real answer to becoming a better player, at least in his case, lay somewhere in the middle of the two extremes, and for the most part Seto agreed with him. For this reason, when Seto was too busy to teach or at the last minute had to cancel a lesson, he arranged for Ryou to practice with Mokuba in whatever way Mokuba saw fit, and Mokuba always saw fit to compete.

Mokuba made sure to know some sort of local competition for nearly every day of the week, just in case Ryou was hoisted on him at the last minute. Although Domino City was decidedly Magic & Wizards territory so far as the most popular games went, there was still a sizable crowd of those interested in traditional games. Game nights such as the one Ryou and Mokuba were now attending were fairly common throughout the city. It was a suitable, low-stakes alternative to tournament play and favored by amateurs. The atmosphere was characteristically casual, and there were no rankings, which Ryou felt was a relief after playing in larger tournaments accompanied by Seto frowning down at him every other week.

"Recognize anyone?" asked Mokuba, scanning the room with a mischievous eye for discord.

Indeed, Ryou recognized quite a few players. He'd played against many of them before at similar events around the city. None of them seemed to know who Ryou really was, or if they did, they found it prudent to say nothing. In general, opponents seemed more afraid of Mokuba than Ryou anyway. If given the choice between the two, hands down they would choose Ryou as their opponent. Mokuba was insufferable to play any type of game against, being just as bad as his brother with his taunting, but not nearly as accomplished a professional to back it up completely.

"No, I mean the guy over there," said Mokuba, directing Ryou's attention to a table near the counter.

"Mokuba!" said Ryou aghast once he realized which one Mokuba was talking about. "It's not polite to point at people."

Sitting near the counter, oblivious to the fact that anyone was singling him out, was Ryou's embarrassing middle school crush, Youta. Mokuba had ascertained Youta's status through Ryou's initial reaction to seeing him at a chess meet in the Domino City Park. Although Ryou no longer had the remotest interest in the purple-haired teen [1], he had still been surprised to run into him. So many of his friends from the past had been locked in playing pieces by his malicious other self that he sometimes forgot there were a few people he knew who hadn't played RPGs with him. The traumatically, abruptly, comatose ones had been much more strongly etched in his memory.

Youta had been the head student in his class and looked up to by all, perhaps even more than Youta could ever have imagined. Quiet a few people had been secretly kind of in love with him, not just Ryou, as he'd had an amiable nature that had never turned haughty despite the fact that he was better than everyone at schoolwork and was consistently that one annoying kid in class who always remembered to say "thank you" before anyone else when treats were handed out on special reward days.

"Please just try to let me live that down," said Ryou, turning red. Puberty had not been kind to Youta. He was no longer cute, having lost his boyish face but retained his boyish body. He'd used to be tallest in the class, but now he was among the shortest in the room. Apparently Ryou had had a crush on him while he was at his peak, both in appearance as well as stature, and Youta had only made mediocre progress in the interim.

Regardless, Youta was still incredibly nice, as he had been known to be when he and Ryou were classmates. He didn't recognize Ryou, but in the single match they'd played so far, he'd been a good sportsman about losing. In honor of the fond feeling he'd once felt for the young man, Ryou was strongly tempted to let Youta win, and if Youta hadn't soundly proven to be abysmal at the game, he definitely would've gone home with a much better victory that he deserved. But, as things had panned out, Ryou had been forced to finally checkmate Youta as something of a mercy kill, embarrassed for the both of them that Youta had missed every single opening Ryou had left him in the entire match.

"You should try for a rematch," said Mokuba with glee. "Maybe he's learned to play since last time?"

"Don't be so mean," said Ryou, looking about them anxiously. "Someone might hear you."

"So what if they do; I'm the best player here," said Mokuba. He reveled in Ryou's discomfort, confident in his status as untouchable by Ryou or anyone else present when it came to chess. "If they have a problem, the can try to kick me out. I'd like to see that."

Ryou edged further back into his seat, as if trying to disown his current company without rudely walking away. Mokuba's raucous laughter caught the momentary attention of those around them, including the aforementioned Youta. His eyes and Ryou met for the briefest of seconds, and Youta smiled and waved. To Ryou's surprised, he stood and came over.

"Hi!" said Youta brightly after arriving to their table. "I didn't see you come in before. You might not remember me, but I wanted to apologize if I saw you again. I didn't realize until after our last match that I know you. Maybe you've forgotten, too, but we used to be in the same class in middle school. You're the same Ryou Bakura, right? Doesn't your dad run the history museum?"

"Yes, you're right," said Ryou, smiling back. He considered faintly how only five years ago he would've been overjoyed beyond words to have Youta approach him and know exactly who he was, but the slight, large-headed teenager before him was not that same Youta. That Youta was forever relegated to the past and Ryou's unrequited, pre-teen romantic anguish, back when the biggest problem in his life was pinning for a boy with a girlfriend. Simpler times those had been.

As things stood currently, there was no chance Ryou was going to admit to having already known who Youta was during their previous match. It would be rude. Instead, he put on a show of having only just recognized him and invited him to have seat with them. Youta couldn't accept, as he was with his friends, but thanked Ryou for the offer. Instead, he suggested they should play another match to see if Youta could finally beat him.

"But then, you were always into games, so I probably don't stand a chance," said Youta. He began to laugh, but suddenly stopped. A momentary cloud of recollection darkened his features as he realized what he'd just said. It wasn't really a secret Ryou had transferred schools over a year before as a result of the mysterious illness that had fallen upon his friends during a role playing game at his house. Rumors had flown like they'd been shot out of cannons, and in the aftermath Ryou had found it easier to abandon his school, his neighborhood, and the classmates he'd known for years, than face the growing suspicion and social rejection surrounding him. Youta hadn't really known Ryou at that time, since they'd been put into different classes by then, but he'd definitely heard about it from the rumor mill of the school.

"He'll kick your ass," said Mokuba, butting in with his childish threats and distraction tactics. "He's got the best guy in the world teaching him to play. He'll beat you blindfolded. You tied his hands behind his back, give him only five minutes on the clock, and he'll still beat you while only being able to move pieces with his nose. Still blindfolded."

"He's lying!" said Ryou quickly, though he forced a laugh at the idea. It was a stretch to imagine anyone would even try to play chess in such a way, including someone as insanely competitive as Seto Kaiba. This gave Youta the cue that he could breath easy; he hadn't just made the incredible faux pas of reminding his unluckiest former classmate of his tragic past.

"You have a coach?" asked Youta, eager to change the subject to more chessic matters. "I didn't know Domino High had a serious chess program, much less a great chess coach."

"They don't," said Mokuba harshly. "They don't deserve a good coach."

"They have classes now," said Ryou. He at least would defend the school pride. "They're getting better. Sure, there's been some hiccups, but things have improved since the last tournament."

"I heard Seto Kaiba took over the team," said Youta. Ryou became suddenly aware that Youta didn't recognize Mokuba Kaiba and prayed Youta wasn't about to say something he'd regret. "That should be good for you guys, right?"

Mokuba scoffed loudly, drawing Youta's attention. Youta blanched as the realization finally hit.

"Oh shit," he said. "You're Mokuba Kaiba!"

At this language, Ryou felt even further sundered from the Youta of his childhood daydreams. Middle school Youta never swore, even in justifiable circumstances of shock and disbelief. Ryou was beginning to wonder if maybe the Youta of the past had even existed, or if he'd just been fabricated in Ryou's own bored, drama-seeking mind to liven up the long school day.

"Took you long enough to see; you need glasses or something, genius?" asked Mokuba. He became cruel when he felt he wasn't getting the respect he deserved. It offended him to not be recognized.

"Hey, I have an idea! You should really start playing a match, Mokuba," said Ryou, motioning nervously about the room, hoping Mokuba would consider it. "We came all this way to play, right? How about some friendly competition?"

Mokuba grumbled and stood, pointing out a player he knew and considered something of a nemesis. He announced loudly that everyone should back off, he and his opponent had unfinished business. From his coat pocket, he whipped out an envelope, saying they would pick up where they'd adjourned three weeks ago. His opponent cringed, and with a pained expression accepted the challenge. In full view of a crowded café, there was nowhere to escape to.

"How about that match, Bakura?" asked Youta once Mokuba was adequately distracted.

"Certainly," said Ryou. Youta grinned and motioned for one of the event coordinators to bring them a chessboard.

###### Notes:

[1] So I more or less pull hair colors out of a hat when I write Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction.


	14. Word on the Street Is

Apparently Youta had just been acting coy when he'd claimed to not know anything about Domino High's chess team. As Ryou soon found out, Youta knew quite a lot. According to him, once he'd realized who Ryou was, he'd become curious as to why Ryou was so good at chess while his school team was so irrefutably horrible. This had spurred him into investigating the matter, and after a bit of asking around, he'd learned that Seto Kaiba had taken over the team a few months before.

After making a cursory study of the team's history, Youta had then hit a brick wall. He'd come to Ryou bearing a plethora of unanswered questions, hoping Ryou would be able to solve them. The most crucial of these questions went in the following vein:

Did Seto really try to buy off the judges in their first tournament?

Had Seto's actions really promoted a schism within his own team?

Was Ryou really Seto's chess pupil? Some people said it was Katsuya Jounouchi. Others said it was Ryuuji Otogi. A few thought Seto having a star pupil was just a rumor invented to scare the team's opponents.

Would Seto take Youta as a student if Ryou asked him to?

For all these questions and more, Ryou had few answers. He defended Seto by insisting the tournament had been sabotaged by a key team member. Seto might've had something to do with the schism but it was much more complicated than that. Yes, he was teaching Ryou to play chess. And finally, no, probably not, since Seto was running a team, not opening a chess school.

The pitiful look on Youta's face when Ryou told him Seto wasn't looking for students was nearly enough to make Ryou wish he could call Seto and try to convince him otherwise. But, a call wasn't necessary. He knew the answer, and even as a nice gesture it wasn't worth it to be ridiculed by Seto afterwards for trying.

Youta then mentioned something that surprised Ryou more than anything else. He said he was hoping to transfer schools so he could join the Domino High chess team. Word had gotten out that the best players would receive a scholarship for university, and his parents wanted him to win it. Ryou had forgotten that this had been one of Seto's offered incentives for joining the team, and was amazed that even students from other schools had heard about it. Youta said there were rumors that people were changing schools, hoping to join the chess team and win the sizable scholarship for themselves. They reasoned being on the Domino High team was cushy, especially if you were already decent at chess, because you weren't expected to win anything or try very hard.

What more, Youta suggested Ryou had to be more careful about who outside the chess team knew he was training with Seto. Many players, likely all better than him, were trying to figure out ways to usurp Ryou's position. Some were convinced they only needed to defeat Seto's student, and Seto would replace him with the better player. Ryou was worried, because he disliked the idea of anyone coming after him with this kind of plan in mind, especially because it wasn't going to work even if they did defeat him. 

The one thing that the junior chess grapevine seemed to get consistently wrong was assuming Ryou had ever been any good at chess before he'd started training with Seto, thus making the assume that defeating Ryou would actually be a real challenge. Since even the members present at the time poorly understood the causes for the schism within the Domino High team, many prospective chess team members were convinced Seto had chosen Ryou for his exceptional skill and not as a vain tactic to put Jounouchi and his supporters in their places.

Ryou didn't confirm or deny to Youta that Seto had chosen him because he was a great player. The more Youta spoke, the more paranoid Ryou grew, until he was answering all further questions asked with only short, noncommittal shrugs, suddenly terrified of revealing too much. Who knew if Youta could be trusted? Maybe he was hoping to get on Ryou's good side to find a quicker way to Seto Kaiba? Ryou had been playing chess far too long now to not recognize the threats directly in front of him. On top of that, he'd spent plenty of enough time with Seto to learn to consider absolutely everything around him a potential threat.

"Are you aware of the rumors people are saying about the chess team?" asked Ryou during his and Seto's next lesson. Ryou had been unable to focus on the sophisticated maneuvers Seto was walking him through. The material was a bit dense with theory, and Ryou's brain was resisting having to learn it to the last. "Or about anyone who's transferred to our school just to join your chess team and win the scholarship? Is that real? Has anyone actually done that?"

Seto looked up, annoyed, from the board he was clearing. "Not that I've been told, no," he said. Ryou was supposed to have been reading the printout Seto had just handed him, but obviously that wasn't happening. "But I've heard about it. There was a principal here the other day complaining about it, even though not a single one of his students has transferred to Domino High in the past year and a half. He thought I was trying to steal players from other schools. But, there are lots of scholarships out there for sports. People just like to complain, and I'm the kind of guy they like to point fingers at when they're scared."

"What are they scared of?"

"Bullshit fantasies they invent in their own stupid, empty heads," said Seto bitterly. "To people without any skill or talent, life is just series of continuous injustices to rally against. They think me being involved with the chess team is unfair, and so they take whatever chance they can get to undermined that."

"Are you sure this isn't going to turn out badly?" asked Ryou nervously. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'm not worried in the slightest," said Seto, setting him straight. "You should be more concerned for yourself. I've been trained for this sort of thing. They could dismantle the entire chess program at Domino High tomorrow, and while I'd put up a fight, I'd inevitably be fine with it. You, on the other hand, would loose the support of those on the school staff who won't take the risk of accepting payment for your grades if they can't tell themselves there's a bigger, more important reason to help you."

"Good point," said Ryou. This sort of thing hadn't occurred to him before. "What would I do if that happened?"

"It won't happen," said Seto. "I was speaking hypothetically. I wouldn't let them dismantle the chess program. I was just trying to give you perspective so you know to worry about yourself before you worry about me. You've got a lot more to lose."

"Really?" said Ryou thoughtfully. "I've heard people are talking about me, but I can handle some gossip. I'd assumed that was the worse I'd have to contend with. People like to talk."

Ryou wasn't sure if transferring schools after inadvertently putting his closest friends in comas really qualified as "handling" the social backlash and emotional trauma of the situation he was referring to when he spoke of "gossip", but he'd survived it at any rate. He had new friends now, better friends, friends who understood that sometimes a person came programmed with two operating systems and it was possible you weren't your best, least murderous and evil self some of the time.

"Do you follow the news?" asked Seto curiously. "Do you know what has already been said? Have you ever read an article about what people think of me having a student?"

Ryou gestured vaguely, not wanting to reveal what a failure of a responsible, almost adult he was. Following the news had always been something he'd planned to take up as he got older. Grown-ups knew all about the news, and he was getting way too close to eighteen now to insist on not knowing what was going on in the world.

"Like, I kind of follow the 'real' news," he said, being a tad generous even with this purely evasive answer. "I don't follow the kind of news where I'd see much gossip about celebrities. I'm not good about knowing anything about celebrities. I don't even know your birthday, and that's probably online."

"Have you never looked yourself up online?" asked Seto, like he was speaking to someone who'd just fallen to Earth.

Ryou shook his head at Seto's question. "I don't have a reason to?" he said uncertainly. "…Right?" he asked, thinking maybe he needed to be a bit more vain and check up on his Internet presence sometime. How he hadn't done this after becoming publicly affiliated with Seto Kaiba was something of a mystery. It was probably related to the fact that he didn't totally connect the Seto he saw at school with the Seto he saw on television or on the covers of magazines. Ryou had far too innocently assumed that no-one outside of his high school or junior chess brackets would care that Seto was teaching Ryou how to play chess. But as Seto questioned him, it started to become clear to Ryou that he may have held too narrow of view of the real ramifications of getting caught up in the affairs of a world famous game prodigy and billionaire. That maybe he should've mulled it over a bit longer before agreeing to become Seto's pupil.

Ryou glanced at Seto's laptop, considering typing in his name and searching for what the world had to say about him. Seto noticed and sighed, becoming annoyed now.

"Look, I haven't exactly got time to hold your hand through this," said Seto. Not having time was his favorite excuse for when there was something he didn't really want to deal with but felt like he might just have to. "So, you'll have to save the bulk of your coping process or whatever for when you get home." He reached over and pulled the laptop out of Ryou's reach just in case. Ryou stared after it wistfully. "But, as I can see you're not going to be paying much attention to me until you've satisfied your curiosity, here's a proposal: You stop bringing the subject up, prove to me you can execute these moves well enough, and then in an hour and forty-five minutes when you take your break, I'll let you use my computer to scour the internet for mentions of your name."

"Okay," said Ryou, turning a little red, embarrassed that Seto would even use this small bait to manipulate him to learn chess just a tiny bit better.

"Then, after fifteen minutes, I'm going to test you on what we've covered, and if it's miraculously proven that you still have some semblance of an idea, I'll answer a few questions you may have," said Seto. Ryou had the strong impression he was being sold something right now, and wasn't sure why. It probably meant today's lesson was actually super hard. Crap. "So, I'll let you freak out for right now, but you have to promise to still work on chess while doing so."

Ryou looked at Seto in surprise. "Ask you questions? Questions about what? Why would I be freaking out?"

"Trust me, if you haven't seen what the media makes of people yet, you're in for a rude awakening," said Seto scornfully. "Even when it's not bad, you'll likely feel upset when you see how much they simply shrug and make up about you. You're not prepared for this."

"I'll definitely feel that way about it if you keep telling me I'm going to," said Ryou. He didn't approve of Seto acting like Ryou couldn't handle a bit of bad press. Seto barely listened to him.

"Yes, well, just keep in mind that if you find you're having doubts after you leave here today, we can set you up with a public relations specialist," Seto continued. "And they can help you work out any steps you might take. If you want to clear the air—which I do not advise you do, as all it will ultimately accomplish is to draw additional attention to yourself—they can help you work on the image you might want to project. If you ask me, though, the low profile you've kept so far doesn't need changing."

"Am I going to freak out?" asked Ryou miserably. He hung his head in regret. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"Not…necessarily," said Seto. Reassurance wasn't something he was often called upon to offer others, but he still tried. "It's just, if I'd realized earlier that you weren't asking me about what the media said because you had no idea they were talking about you…well, lets just say that until now I'd assumed you were taking things uncommonly well. I don't know what your threshold for freaking out over things is, so I want to make it clear that you have options if you're displeased with what you discover. Maybe you'll laugh it off and be fine. I don't know. At any rate, I'm offering to help you, and I suggest you accept it."

"Why would you want to help?" asked Ryou. He was genuinely surprised with Seto's—admittedly not the warmest—offer of support. When the topic wasn't chess or tournaments, Ryou and Seto rarely spoke for very long. In Seto's opinion, what Ryou felt about the public's opinion of him was uniquely Ryou's problem. It wasn't like he hadn't warned Ryou from the start, but he could see now that Ryou, though he listened closely, hadn't understood the enormity of what he was getting involved in. If Ryou didn't handle things well, this was going to be quite a mess to have to clean up, and quite an unnecessary detour off the path to their true objective.

"This is only so you can get the immediate stress out of your system and we can get back to what is truly important here: playing chess," said Seto, making a pointed gesture in the direction of the chessboard and the newest pile of print-outs. "Now, are we going to restart this lesson, or am I going to have to send you home for the afternoon so you can freak out on your time and not mine? There are a lot of other things I could be doing right now if you think you need to take the day off."

"I'll be okay…for now," said Ryou, somewhat anxious after Seto had made it sound like the media had done nothing but slander him for weeks while he innocently rehearsed chess matches back and forth in relative solitude with a classmate who had the audacity to be famous. Perhaps Seto was exaggerating. Seto had a tendency for hyperbole while dueling, and who was to say this didn't also bleed into other aspects of his life? You probably couldn't depend on the guy to tell you the weather outside while you were looking out at it with him next to you. He'd tell you that you needed a long raincoat, galoshes, a wind-resistant umbrella, two changes of socks, and a flashlight when both of you could clearly see that the most going on outside was a soft mist punctuated by light drizzling.

"So we can get started," said Seto, resuming his businesslike tone. "Turn to page 7, section I, part b; promotion."

Obediently, Ryou did so, reminded of the real, important task at hand. Chess was the only course, the only action, and the only guarantee in this small meeting room every day. And Seto wouldn't answer a single question or offer an iota of support until Ryou did some work with chess first. Ryou gritted his teeth and swallowed his fears, focusing on the game as was expected of him. Seto's sympathies would be earned by the deserving few, or they wouldn't be extended at all. Playing was the only option, because it was the only path to making Seto Kaiba give a damn. So, Ryou would play.

###### Notes:

[1] No hay ninguna. 


	15. Jack-of-All-Games

That afternoon, as Ryou entered the meeting room ready for the day's chess practice, he found himself in the presence of some unexpected company. Across the table sat Ryuuji Otogi, his classmate and friend, looking for all the world bored as he inclined further and further back in his wobbly chair, catching the edge of the table before he could completely topple over. When Ryou entered, he lowered his seat up to its proper place quickly, but once he saw it wasn't Seto, he returned to a more relaxed position.

"If you fall and hit your head on the wall, Kaiba will just shrug and say it's your own fault. I know that from experience," said Ryou, taking a seat across from Ryuuji. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Ryuuji grinned and finally pulled his chair up to the table where he could meet Ryou. He was still in his school uniform. Coming here directly was the only way he could've beat Ryou in arriving.

"Kaiba hasn't told you?" asked Ryuuji eagerly. "Personally, I think this is a stupid plan, but I'm not going to argue with being one of the five game retailers in the country with exclusive distribution rights to KaibaCorp's special edition home duel disk system with the sweet pearlescent Blue Eyes White Dragon scale motif on the body. That considered, if you ask me, the plan is brilliant, but only because I think the incentive part of it is pretty fucking awesome. They're works of art; you should ask Kaiba to give you a set."

"Kaiba seems to know our prices," said Ryou with a defeated sigh, in contrast to Ryuuji who could hardly contain his elation. "I'm going to hopefully pass the 12th grade, and all I have to do is learn how to play chess. What do you have to do for him?"

"I have to pretend like I'm learning to play chess," said Ryuuji, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to be Kaiba's new pupil. We're going to say you're done learning all Seto can teach you for now, so he's focused on another promising talent."

"Wait, what?" asked Ryou, not sure if he felt more insulted or hurt that Seto hadn't bothered to tell him in person that he was being publically fired from his position as Seto's chess protégée. "Why did I have to come all the way out here, then? There's a quiz in biology class tomorrow, and I haven't even studied."

"I think he's still paying for your grades," said Ryuuji. Ryou gaped at him, shocked at how much protected information Seto had apparently entrust Ryuuji with already. This usurpation had probably been in the works for weeks if Ryuuji was on this level of confidence with Seto. "Because you're still going to be doing chess with him. It's just going to be in secret. Higher ups are getting way mad at him for continuing to interfere with the school chess team after what happened in their first tournament with him, so you're going underground."

"Why in secret?" asked Ryou. Ryou hadn't freaked out too much when he'd read what the tabloids and jealous chess coaches were saying about him. Sure, cutting remarks like "lackey", "trained dog", and "brainwashed specter of the grandmaster himself" had been thrown in his direction in regards to whether or not Ryou would prove to be masterful at chess based on his own merits. Many of the more acerbic articles claimed Seto had only taken him on because he was easy to keep under control, unlike the actual Domino High chess team. However, Ryou couldn't really argue, as he'd already come to terms himself with the fact that he was to be a shallow imitation of Seto himself created through the powers of memorization and repetition. Therefore, the articles he'd read lambasting him hadn't really hurt his feelings. He more or less agreed with them, considering.

"It's a trick," said Ryuuji. He waved his hands dramatically like a magician as he said this. "He wants people to think you're good at chess even after he's cut off any direct help. The victory will be worth more that way. As in, he's such a great coach that you are permanently good at chess now, even without him acting like your chess helicopter parent."

"How is that supposed to work?" asked Ryou. "Why does it matter how involved he is with my training?"

"Like I've said, the plan is stupid and convoluted and typically Kaiba," said Ryuuji with a mystified shrug. "But I guess it makes him feel better. Probably some complicated thing about having to shut the critics up in one blow, which anyone who's ever dealt with a critic already knows is madness. You strike back; they just start whining about how you didn't hit hard enough, or make a cool enough pose after, or quip, or maintain the proper icy silence. But hey, if this gets Kaiba to sleep at night, I'm cool with it, you know? I'm cool with it to the sound of exclusive merchandising deals with Black Clown for all the foreseeable future."

Ryou laughed, impressed with the levity Ryuuji brought to the situation. Ryuuji's opportunistic glee at the chance to increase sales for his game shop made this much less about Ryou personally and a whole lot more about Ryuuji profiting off of Seto's poorly placed pride. Maybe that's why Seto had chosen Ryuuji to break the news, since anything Seto would've said about demoting Ryou to his unofficial pupil would've just sounded like a cold-hearted rejection of all the work they'd done together so far.

"I'm probably not doing so great," said Ryou apologetically once Ryuuji had finished explaining that he actually knew how to play chess, what with being a game inventor and all, but that no-one had ever made him prove it, so that made Ryuuji a safe bet to pretend to train. It was virtually guaranteed Ryuuji'd make a strong showing in his first tournament even if Seto didn't so much as speak to him for the next month and a half. "Seto's probably started to realize that, but he can't back out because he's paying for my grades."

"I have no idea," said Ryuuji, brushing Ryou's self-conscious concern away with a flick of the wrist. "Kaiba's an arrogant bastard, so maybe you're right and that's exactly what he's doing. I say we just accept things how they are now, because why the hell not? You like studying chess, right? You still get to do that. I have to take some time out of my schedule to attend some chess club meetings, but that's not a burden to me. I'm looking forward to helping coach everyone. I'm morbidly fascinated with witnessing first hand how bad they are. I've heard it's something that really has to be seen to be believed."

"They aren't that bad," said Ryou, defending his team.

Ryuuji pulled on a lose strand of his long, wild hair, basking smugly in his own conviction and what he deemed his cleverness. "They are worse than us," said Ryuuji. "You know it. I know it. Kaiba knows it, but he doesn't even have to think about it because it's much easier for him to only count the players who are almost good as he is. It's a short list. None of the chess team is close to on it."

"Jounouchi is pretty good," said Ryou.

Ryuuji didn't even bother to respond to this; he just laughed. Ryou looked at him and shook his head softly in disappointment, but this only caused Ryuuji to laugh harder.

"Give them a break," said Ryou. "They are good enough for tournament play, at least. They just need a chance."

"They won't ever get one if Kaiba's in charge," said Ryuuji, calming down considerably at last, though he still drifted off into the occasional small chuckle. "People are going to call foul on any move the team makes until Kaiba disconnects himself from it. That means he needs to lessen his ties if he really wants the team to go anywhere, and one of the token sacrifices of his withdraw is that he's going to change pupils to a more 'logical' option from outside the team. If he wants to teach chess, he's welcome to it, it just can't be to anyone on the school team."

"I agree with that part," said Ryou. "You make more sense as a pupil for someone as good as Kaiba. But how does that work if you join the chess team?"

"I'm not joining, I'm going to be a coach," said Ryuuji. He draped himself over his chair wearily, as if being a chess team coach were the heaviest imposition to have ever been placed on him in his short, teenaged life. The mere thought of such responsibility caused him roll his eyes and to lose the strength to sit up any longer. "You and I are going to push the team in the direction Kaiba wants it to go in while Kaiba innocently manages the day-to-day of the chess club. The chess club's a money pit, so no-one minds if he's still president so long as he's making contributions."

"And what direction are we pushing the team in?" asked Ryou.

"We're going to help prepare the team for their next tournament in a month and a half."

"They're really going to compete that soon? Is there enough time?"

"Yes, Kaiba's new plan takes effect tomorrow-ish. There are some steps, kind of like a timed-release process to make it look like he's really leaving the team for real. I'm here to give you something like an orientation on the new order as it's been explained to me. I'm sorry to inform you of that which you may already know after spending weeks cooped up with the guy, but: You don't get a vote. You just get to get over it."

Ryou smiled lightly, forcedly. "As long as I don't fail the year, I can cope."

Ryuuji sat up and stared at him. "Well then, shit, Ryou, how bad are you doing in school?" he asked in awestruck disbelief. "I always thought you were like a smart guy."

Now it was Ryou's turn to laugh at Ryuuji's expense.

"Oh come on," said Ryuuji in disbelief. "How can your grades be that bad? You haven't missed any more school than Yuugi or Jounouchi, and they don't seem to be failing." He paused after saying this, reconsidering it. "But, of course, they're also more famous and successful than you are. They probably get cut more breaks. And I guess the teachers secretly hate that, having to pad the grades of kids who duel better than they can read. But why would the teachers then take it out on you? Poor you? Because you supposedly tried to be a duelist and failed? That's almost cruel enough to be poetic. You're adorable and you try hard. In a normal school, you would be like the teacher's pet. Not the brown nosing pet with the best grades, but like the scrappy, loveable little guy who tries his best and keeps coming up mediocre. The kind of kid that makes the teacher feel like their job has goddamn meaning."

"I don't think it's been a conspiracy," said Ryou, folding and unfolding his hands on the table as he spoke. Ryuuji was big on detecting intrigues and ulterior motives, convinced he could see patterns in events, specifically negative ones, that no-one else had the ability to recognize. He'd been raised to look for such conspiracies everywhere, and so vigilant and exaggerated were his finely tuned senses of distrust that Ryuuji could make paranoid connections between events that even the famously hyper-suspicious Seto Kaiba would step back from and suggest maybe they just slow the fuck down before jumping to any rash conclusions.

"Maybe," Ryou suggested hopefully, "I'm just not meeting their standards?"

"The standard is that you become a world-class duelist, or you keep your ass in the seat of your desk," said Ryuuji with a scornful laugh and a good dose of vehemence. "And I'm serious. If your grades are this bad, it's because some of the teachers have got it out for you. Believe me, you and I both know the teachers at Domino High are ridiculous, because you and I've both known better. Apparently before our time, there was one teacher who'd expel you for not covering your mouth when you coughed or some shit. The school's an institution for these people to keep them from the rest of society by feeding them the illusion of power that comes with dominating a classroom."

When Ryuuji went on like this, you could usually hear beneath it another, older, even crazier voice, hiding behind some mask or curtain while narcissistically proclaiming the entire world was flawed and that home was the only bastion of reason left. At some point, that person had gone adrift in the terrible ocean of unviable, deceitful humankind, and all that could be done was to take Ryuuji along with him and teach him how to read the current and survive the volley of endless waves sent to engulf him. In addition, they were going to make something of a pit-stop to defeat the evil King of Games, because fuck that guy. The universe was a dark place.

"You really don't know how disappointed I am to hear the big reason Kaiba's got you under his thumb is because you suck at school," said Ryuuji. "I'd assumed it was something more exciting than that. But oh well. You've never been much of a hard sell, to be honest. You go in for sob stories. Maybe I should be surprised you're being compensated at all for helping him."

"Hey now," said Ryou, hurt. "Are you saying I'm a pushover?"

"Aren't you, though?" asked Ryuuji. Ryou made an injured face in response, refusing to answer the question.

"Don't be that way," said Ryuuji, a smug grin spreading across his face, "because I sure don't remember it being me the one who was upset that too many girls in the class had bought him gifts for his birthday, and panicked about it to his friends because he couldn't remember all of the girls' names to write them back proper thank you cards. Unsolicited presents aren't your responsibility to accept and act grateful for. It might be the nice thing to do, but in the end it just encourages more insistent behavior. Then, before you know it, you've got five kisses stolen from you by underclassmen girls in a week, and every boy in the school is sniggering at the sight of you while secretly despising you all the same."

"That was a prank!" said Ryou defensively. "And only three girls kissed me. Two just did it twice." Ryuuji started tsking disappointedly at these details, driving Ryou to try even harder to clear himself. "I told you before; it was merely an innocent, silly competition between the three of them that, once clarified to me, they cease with entirely. There're worse jokes to play on people than stealing kisses from them. It was just for fun."

"Yeah, well, everything's suddenly just for fun when it doesn't pan out how they want it to," said Ryuuji derisively. "Just try not to get kisses stolen from you by any more fourteen-year-olds. People might not view a bad habit like that so chastely after your next birthday."

Ryou became red in the face, slowly, silently suffocating in the heat of shame and mortification at what Ryuuji had just hinted to him.

"Can we stop talking about girls?" asked Ryou meekly. "I've never even had a girlfriend. I'm no expert. I just don't like it when they get mad at me."

"You're right; we're way off topic," said Ryuuji, adopting a more professional demeanor. He removed his book bag from the table and sat up straighter in his seat, adding a touch of aplomb to his gestures that meant he meant business. "We're supposed to play the newest version of Dragons Dice and Dungeons while I'm here."

"Not chess?" asked Ryou, confused.

"Of course chess," said Ryuuji with an exaggerated eye roll. "I was being facetious. Where do you keep the boards?"

Ryou gave Ryuuji a short introduction to the small, windowless office that possibly qualified as a second legal residence for him by now. Ryuuji dubbed the room as dreary, and decided he was going to ask Seto the move them to someplace with natural light. Not everyone was a vampire like Seto and Ryou, shunning the sun in favor of chessic pursuits. How the hell wasn't Ryou claustrophobic after being shut up in there for hours at a time?

"So, do you want me to tell you it's a checkmate, or can you see it for yourself?" asked Ryuuji after somewhat of an embarrassingly brief first match. Ryou had let his guard way down since it was Ryuuji, and Ryuuji had exploited this mercilessly. Ryou gawked at him, not sure if there were words that existed to express how bowled over he was by what a secretly great chess player Ryuuji had been all along.

"Have you ever played Kaiba?" Ryou asked, eyes still set as wide as they'd grown the moment the tide of the game had turned against him and Ryuuji's shockingly sophisticated strategy had revealed itself. Ryou's own plan had needed another five turns to fully develop, but Ryuuji hadn't let that happen. He'd seized the very first opportunity without hesitation, cutting Ryou off and causing him to regret underestimating Ryuuji by trying to play so nice in the first place.[1]

"Way too many times," said Ryuuji with an exhausted sigh. "He had to 'assess my level' or whatever the hell before we came to an agreement, and it only took like twenty-three goddamn games until he was satisfied. Do you know, he wanted to play them all in a single afternoon! Fuck that. We've been playing for two hours a day for the past week. It was torture."

"Did you win any of the matches?" asked Ryou, not optimistic Ryuuji had.

"Six," Ryou's jaw nearly hit the floor, "but with Kaiba you just hope to draw and go the fuck home, really," said Ryuuji, unaffected by the tremendousness of this achievement. "He'll drag a match out for the entire four hours limit if you let him, and you better hope you had the foresight to even set a four hour limit to begin with. I don't have his stamina or his pride. Frankly, I'll concede a match just so I can leave to go get a coffee without having to bother with adjournment paperwork."

"Wait, what?" demanded Ryou, practically shouting the words in utter amazement. "You actually won six matches? Kaiba can actually lose at chess? Are you for real?"

Ryuuji furrowed his brow as he observed Ryou's insulting, knee-jerk incredulity in response to Ryuuji being competent at a game he'd played most of his life.

"I'm not just for real," said Ryuuji sternly to ensure Ryou listened up and listened well. "I'm better than he is."

And with that, Ryou's entire worldview collapsed on itself. He was completely incapable of processing this information.

Was there really anyone better at chess than Seto?

Was this real life?

###### Notes:

[1] If you're keeping count at home, this is like the bagillionth time Ryou has played against his assumptions of the other player and not against the actual board.


	16. Verboten

Both Ryou and Seto were about to regret this moment. Ryou for having poorly hid the fact that there was something he dearly wanted to ask during the entire helicopter ride over, and Seto for having demanded Ryou open up with whatever was on his mind because Seto was tired of the inquiring looks Ryou kept casting him behind his back.

"Is..is Ryuuji really better than you at chess?" asked Ryou, barely registering the weird, distant sound of the voice he heard as his own speaking into the microphone of his headset. "I know he exaggerates, so…."

Seto glowered at the memory, which told Ryou more than enough in regards to the answer to that question.

"I'll answer that on the ground," Seto snarled before turning away in a huff to stare out the window while he fought to quell the rage that had risen up inside him.

A dark mood settled between the two of them as Seto's pride stewed once more in the rawness of his successive defeats at Ryuuji Otogi's hand. It was this pride that ached to lash out vindictively and tell Ryou that Ryuuji was a damn liar and a charlatan, only good for gambling and games that required all the participants be immensely full of hot air and little else. Ryuuji Otogi in no way possessed either the proper attitude or the metal fortitude to master a game so elegant, refined, and ageless as chess was.

In reality, Ryuuji'd won as many times as he had because he was a trained dog, something Seto believed without irony though Ryou himself was often cited as such in the press. Those pale victories weren't won because Ryuuji was inherently skilled in the game or truly understood its art. He'd merely been a precocious child once with an incentive to learn such things for the sake of his family's honor. And while there was no nobler goal in life than to aim for defeating Yuugi Mutou at a game, Ryuuji'd spent his whole life preparing for the moment and had then promptly lost. Clearly Seto was better than him in that and in all other subsequent ways, even if Seto'd forced his own single win out of Yuugi with some sort of ledge jumping tomfoolery. Perhaps that had been underhanded of Seto, but at least Seto'd been able to commit to an unfair advantage once he'd had it, unlike Ryuuji, who'd backed out after a short skirmish and an exceptionally extreme change of heart. This proved Ryuuji was too capricious about his life's direction, accepted change too readily, and demonstrated a lack of firmness in his convictions that left Seto reeling as if it were an affront to his very nature.

Seto wasn't in a hurry to explain all of this to Ryou as they descended from the helicopter at a private airfield outside Baraja City. Ryou wouldn't have dared to rush him to say anything anyway. The topic of Ryuuji's deft command of the second game Seto had built a large part of his reputation on was verboten. It put Seto into too great a crisis of self that Ryou couldn't alleviate with any amount of apologies or positive attitude.

As they walked, Seto chuckled darkly at the idea that pretty soon he was going to find out Hiroto Honda had taken all the top scores spots in every arcade in the country, besmirching that last tangled threads of that tattered garment Seto had once called a quality reputation. This had to be some sort of sick, divine punishment being enacted upon him. Seto must've been cursed. It was too bad he didn't believe in magic.

"It's a wash," said Seto through tightly pursed lips. He and Ryou were together in the back seat of a car, being shuttled off to rendezvous with a team of stylists. "I'm sure he's already clarified that to you. He'd be a 'good' player if he tried or cared, but he won't, and he never will. However much better than me he might claim to be is a moot point, because he's useless."

Ryou nodded, but continued to be awestruck at the idea that Seto could be handed a defeat by the suave, hyper-fashionable guy in the back of the classroom who helped Ryou run diversionary maneuvers in the halls so Ryou could escape from the group of girls that occasionally pursued him at the school.

Seto's mood was irrevocably ruined for the rest of the Baraja City amateur tournament, as he barely spoke to Ryou the entire time they travelled into town. This wasn't a junior tournament like when they'd started out, as Seto had recently decided to move Ryou outside the junior realm. Seto didn't want to risk too many people recognizing Ryou when he made his debut, and performing too well in junior tournaments would draw unwanted attention, as well as reintroduce him to too many familiar faces repeatedly. Struggling in adult amateur tournaments made Ryou just as invisible as any other chess hobbyist coming out to try a hand at semi-competitive play.

The deception was fairly simple, as all Seto had to do was make sure Ryou didn't dress like a teenager. Ryou had to wear something of a uniform now, dressing in a tie and a white shirt like an office worker from downtown with no imagination or drive to buy any clothes beyond the practical sort he'd wear to work. Formality and professionalism in dress were the quickest shorthand Seto knew to age a person, as it was something he himself practiced when public opinion veered too close to questioning his corporate competence because of his age. The trade off was that he couldn't so easily play the role of Ryou's coach when Ryou looked like he was Seto's peer. Instead, they had to pretend to be friends swapping notes on their progress, and this meant Seto had to compete as well.

Seto lowering himself to play with the blundering nature of someone inexperienced was difficult enough as it was, but what was nearly impossible to accomplish was getting Ryou to act like they were friends. Something about Ryou's politeness and natural reticence made Seto come off as a jerk to anyone eavesdropping on them. According to Ryou, a stranger had once approached him after Seto had left for his match in order to encourage Ryou and tell him he was a much better player than his friend had said he was. Ryou needed to believe in himself and fill his life with people who would lift him up instead of criticize him and bring him down. Ryou, to say the least, had been mortified throughout the entire interaction and had kept extremely quiet until the person left. When he'd told Seto about it after the tournament, Seto had laughed in his face. It wasn't a kind laugh.

Even now, Ryou was wondering how they were going to pull off being friends or even amiable coworkers with Seto in such a foul mood. Who would discuss the details of their match with someone with such a horrible, deadly expression? It was obvious the only thing Seto wanted was to be left alone. Testament to this, a path virtually cleared itself for him as they entered the tournament hall to sign in.

Ryou, still doggedly giving his all to a part he knew Seto was in no frame of mind to play, forced a conversation about a popular singer he'd once seen eating in a Domino City café. He tried to feed Seto opinions he could agree with and peppered his story with extraneous background details that would help Seto pretend to interact with him on the level of a close coworker, if not necessarily a friend. Seto didn't take the hint. He gave limited responses to Ryou's pauses for input that accomplished little more than to signal he was familiar with the singer's name, but knew absolutely nothing else about her. Ryou strained greatly against the one-sidedness of their exchange, and beat a hasty retreat to the men's room in exasperation once they'd signed in. Seto went to run reconnaissance in the skittles rooms, not meeting up with a Ryou that was intentionally avoiding him for the next hour and a half.

"How was the first match?"

Ryou looked up from his notations curiously at the young woman in front of him. He'd seen her earlier at the vending machine and, with two others joining in, had helped her to lean the machine over and shake it to release a trapped bag of snack cakes. They'd never bothered with introductions, however, because Ryou had heard what sounded like the distinctive clip of Seto's footsteps coming down the next hall and feigned a meet-up he was running late for. Now, she had found him once more and was standing in front of him asking about his match.

"Uh, it was…nice," said Ryou, not sure what to say about chess matches when he wasn't talking to Seto. Seto was never very nice for the first few matches of a tournament. He'd discovered being so harsh was something of a shortcut to getting Ryou to play better sooner. It had now become a set cycle between them with Seto getting annoyed and then Ryou improving to make up for it. This was exhausting for Ryou, who now greatly preferred to sit with Seto alone in an airless meeting room for eight hours than to accompany him to even half a days' tournament for four.

Ryou knew he had to be confident in front of this woman, even if he'd been conditioned to view all this first matches as terrible failures. He was supposed to be here because he enjoyed chess, right? Still, betraying too much confidence would make him stand out, and people would pay closer attention to how he played, to see if his overoptimistic manner equaled the sophistication of his pawn structures. Thus, the key was to be generic and average, and this was a line Ryou was not accustomed to treading. For one, girls seemed to find and take an interest in him everywhere, and rarely allowed him blend inconspicuously into the crowd.

"I think you did really well," said the girl encouragingly. "I was at the board next to you, and I couldn't help but look over at your match. I'm afraid that caused me to lose mine, though. Oops."

 _Oh no_ , Ryou thought, _she's flirting with me and she just lost a match for it._ It increased the stakes of dismissing her with some hollow excuse about getting ready, since she'd already invested herself more than Ryou would've ever asked her to. Ryou had never played or responded well to these bold gambits, and hell, perhaps she really had been watching him play his match instead of focusing hers if she knew that already….

"I'm sorry," said Ryou, being perfectly honest. "I hope you aren't anywhere near me in the next match."

The expression on the young woman's face indicated plainly that Ryou hadn't merely just stuck his foot in his mouth, but had choked on it, too.

"I don't mean like that," he started, his expression horrified as he tried to rectify the insult he'd just inadvertently given this woman. "I mean, I don't want to say you need to get away from me. I wasn't thinking how that would sound. I just feel guilty that you lost, is all."

Fortunately, the woman smiled. Ryou smiled back politely, trying to look like the nicest person in the world. It was his instinctive defense mechanism, playing nice with absolutely everyone. This woman didn't know that, though. She thought Ryou was apologizing so profusely because he didn't want to ruin his chances with her. She made this clear by taking a seat next to him, the seat he'd been saving for Seto when he finished playing, and began to talk about how much she liked chess these days and had started studying it to expand her mind and make her smarter. Ryou, trained for ages by Seto Kaiba, didn't agree that chess could accomplish either of those goals. If anything, studying chess just made Ryou's mind feel feeble and small the deeper he went into it.

Seto raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he entered the room later and saw Ryou was laughing and playing pick-up chess with a small group of women around him. So much for the low profile they were supposed to have kept. Ryou was non-threatening and sweet with people, particularly girls, and they mistook his youthful, teenage face for boyish charm. Ryou was partly aware of the effect this had, but he was too kind-hearted to send them all off. He hoped they would disperse on their own by the time his next match finished, and then he'd spend the rest of the tournament dodging them like it was the week before Valentine's Day at school.

"Can you explain this?" asked Seto, appearing over Ryou's right shoulder. Ryou felt the cold shadow of doom cast itself upon him and clench his heart in the frigid embrace of its long, clawed fingers.

Seto was pissed. And rightfully so.

"Uh, it's just a quick match," said Ryou with plenty of nervous laughter aiming to conceal his terror. "Just to practice. These people want to practice with me."

"How about you finish this match, and we go over our notations before your next round," said Seto. The hand that rested on Ryou's shoulder was firm and unmovable. If Ryou didn't come with him, Seto would drag him after.

"It shouldn't take you more than eight turns," said Seto coldly. "I'll wait."

Ryou looked intently at the board, trying to figure out what Seto was hinting at. It took a moment of moving the pieces around in his head furiously, but when he finally saw it, he felt bad. He could trap the king in less than eight turns, actually, and his opponent was in no way prepared to counter such an aggressive assault. He'd lose his queen in the process, because she'd surely take it with her pawn, but that was the point because nothing else could get that pawn out of the way, and a queen was the strongest bait. Then, the way made clear, Ryou would descend upon her king with the rooks and the bishop, and it would be merciless.

Obediently, Ryou did as he was directed. Predictably, the woman countered with the moves expected for her level. Seto would've seen Ryou's plan the moment his knight was repositioned, but this woman wasn't Seto. This woman didn't expect Ryou was about to play so harshly, so methodically, when earlier he'd let the other players in the group beat him or come very close to it. He'd played nicely with them all, choosing against certain moves so as not to ruin the fun, light-hearted atmosphere they'd establish between them. But now, Ryou was going to expose how much he'd been humoring them this whole time.

Ryou didn't have the nerve to announce the last check or the checkmate once they were played. Before, it had been dramatic to announce the check, as each player laughed and the opponent in check giddily tried to figure out the best response. Playing had been for enjoyment, and losing wasn't taken personally. There'd been a tone of jocularity in the air between them throughout, as everyone'd let their guard down with trusting innocence.

"Oh," was all the woman across from him could say when the game was finished. Ryou didn't blame her. Everyone watching had grown quiet as he made his finishing moves. The relaxed atmosphere was gone, and it was never coming back.

"If you ladies would excuse us," said Ryou, trying his best to be polite and show he harbored no hard feelings against them, "my friend and I are going to review our results."

No-one followed after. No-one dared when confronted with the expression on Seto's face that told them, stark and unsympathetic, that they were not invited to wherever he and Ryou might go. The most welcoming manner Ryou could put on would never surpass the deadliness of Seto's glare from over his left shoulder.

"You realize that those women are all older than you, right?" asked Seto, having pulled Ryou aside to a small room filled with chairs that was out of sight and earshot of the rest of the competitors. Ryou wasn't sure they were allowed to be here, but that would never stop Seto from acting like he had free reign over the entire event hall. "The last thing we need you to do at these tournaments is pick up girls. Save that for your weekend trips to the mall with your friends."

"I wasn't picking up girls," said Ryou, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs nearest the door. "One of them lost a match just to talk to me. It wasn't my fault she did that. The least I could do was be sociable. In fact, I made sure to invite other people over so she wouldn't have the impression I was singling her out like she was special."

"This isn't social hour, Bakura," said Seto harshly. "This isn't time to be looking out for other people's feelings. You need to stay focused. I've got enough fangirls hordes to deal with in regards to fending them off of Otogi long enough to make it plausible that we're studying chess together. I don't need you acting like Otogi."

"I'm not acting like Otogi," said Ryou. Indeed, Ryuuji Otogi would've spoken directly to the girl first just because he'd want to test her receptiveness to him. Ryuuji fed off the attention, while Ryou endured it. "This is the first time something like this has happened at a tournament, so you know I'm nothing like that."

"This only happened now because I let you out of my sight for a couple of hours," said Seto. On the surface, this was true. No-one ever bothered Ryou while Seto was with him. Or rather, no-one ever bothered Seto ever, for anything. "Do I have to babysit you constantly? Can you not handle yourself around grown adult women?"

"I'm sorry, but she lost a match, the first girl. I'm not an asshole."

"Sometimes the worse thing you can be is 'not an asshole', Bakura," said Seto, suddenly sounding a lot like Ryuuji now for how much he didn't want Ryou to act like him. "I don't know how you haven't realized that yet. You can't simply shrug about it and go along because you feel bad for people. People try and they fail, and you are not responsible for protecting them from their failure."

Ryou kept his head bowed in submission to Seto's angry diatribe, not looking up at Seto because a large part of him knew Seto was right, and Ryou didn't want to admit it. For Ryou, the easiest way out of a bad situation was to be easygoing, to keep people at a distance under the guise of getting along with them. If this also caused someone a false sense of hope for something more, then that was a casualty Ryou could accept. At the end of the day, Ryou was never the one withering from the heartache and desperation of chasing a dream forever stepping just out of reach, and he consciously avoided thinking about it when he saw hints of that pain in others. In fact, he blinded himself to it absolutely. Ryou needed to be liked by people, even when he knew he was causing them harm. He didn't feel safe if everyone didn't have a good opinion of him. He didn't want to have to let anyone down.

"I agreed to work with you because I felt bad for you," said Ryou quietly after a moment, hoping this dose of truth might undermine Seto's attack. He still wouldn't look up at Seto yet. When the channel changed, when they were finally talking about anything else but this, Ryou'd go back to his eager, up-beat, trusting self who listened instead of sullenly staring at the floor. Seto just needed to stop with their current topic, and Ryou would happily bring down the wall he'd currently propped up between them.

"I know that," said Seto. There was no embarrassment or sarcasm in his voice. "And you'll keep doing so, which is good for me. This isn't about your overall tendency to be please people. What I need is that you to stop attracting the attention of strange women, especially when I know it isn't just you being nice, but that you have no idea how to stop them.

"That said, I rescind my previous statement: You're nothing like Otogi. At least Otogi can control a situation and keep it from getting out of hand. You can't even control a chessboard, and in chess there is only the one objective: win. If you can't commit to winning, you won't get anywhere. If you don't have an objective when you start making choices, you won't get anywhere. You need to think your shit through, Bakura. You can't just go along and get along."

"I _am_ trying," said Ryou, perhaps sounding a little whinier than he cared for. "But…I'm failing. And it's hard to fail every day."

This was the first time Ryou'd come close to expressing such a sentiment to Seto in words. Mostly Ryou swallowed something like this down and pushed it away, hiding from Seto the increasing fear he had that he'd never amount to much playing chess. He'd never be able to memorize the main lines of the most common openings, recall the perfect mate to trap his target, or recite the theory behind the advantages to one response or another. He'd never become a strong enough player to prove Seto's point and make good on his promise to become a shining example of Seto's immutable chessic authority as the creator of chessic miracles.

The moment Seto realized this, Ryou would be tossed aside, and it wouldn't just be a rejection of Ryou as a chess player, but a total rejection of him as person. In Seto's eyes, Ryou would cease to exist entirely once his usefulness was passed. Ryou was terrified of that abandonment he was so certain he would soon face, especially now that Seto had distanced himself from Ryou publically by announcing he was no longer tutoring him. Seto was setting the stage for the finale, and Ryou felt almost certain that, whatever Seto's plan was, Ryou wouldn't have a role in any of it.

"This isn't failure," said Seto. He took a long time considering what to say before speaking. Dealing with the emotional lives of others was not one of the tenants of successful entrepreneurship that had been drilled into him since he was a child. "This is a misstep. This is temporary. You can't possibly call this outright failure. You're just being dramatic."

"I'm not talking about the women I was playing chess with," said Ryou, summoning enough courage to look Seto in the eye at last. The ball was already rolling, so he might as well tumble along after is at full speed and tell Seto everything he was stressed over. "Tournaments take a lot out of me. I don't feel like I'm getting better. It's like I'm just pretending to play chess well. I'm mimicking what I'm told I'm supposed to be like, but I'm not really invested in the game. What I want are just two things: I want you to not hate my guts, and I want to graduate high school. But," he swallowed once, audibly, before confessing, "I don't want to be great at chess at all. I don't care about it."

"You sure you don't want me to hate your guts?" asked Seto, the side of his mouth curling upwards into a sneer. It was an expression filled with unmitigated scorn for Ryou's words and completely incapable of coping with the problems Ryou had just laid out before him. "Why do you think I care how much you 'like' chess? If you can pretend your way up to a regional junior championship, then I really don't care how much you 'enjoy' it. I only need you to preform well enough to win. Keep that at the forefront of your mind."

With this bleak pronouncement surmising Seto's entire opinion of the importance of Ryou's disintegrating happiness and self-confidence within their arrangement, Seto turned sharply and exited the room. Ryou glanced down at his watch, realizing too late that he was running late for his next match. He made no move to alleviate this as he sat alone in the empty event room. Distantly, he could hear the sound of chatter from the skittles room on the opposite end of the hall and Seto's swift footfalls as he made he way back to the tournament. Seto probably knew Ryou was missing his match. Seto probably didn't give a damn.

By the end of the day, one tournament section featured a surprising upset, as an unknown player previously in the lower end of the section made his way up, match by match, to win. Ryou watched much of the progress of this mysterious player with the green hair and impeccable moustache. He'd dragged himself back to the tournament to politely notify the directors that he needed to withdraw only to discover he apparently already had. When he couldn't find Seto anywhere waiting for him, he'd gone to the stands to join the spectators.

The tournament in Baraja City was the furthest Seto and Ryou had travelled for a competition yet. It was far enough that the weather there was different from Domino, being a few degrees warmer than what Ryou was used to. Yet, looking at Seto playing in his heavy disguise, it was impossible to tell if he felt the heat. He was poised and secure as he played out his matches, sitting up rod-straight in his chair and manipulating his pieces with short, mechanical movements that spoke of diligent practice and revision. As his turn-around became more pronounced, he began to draw the attention of the spectators, who marveled at how well he played for an amateur. Soon, people were even suspecting foul play.

It was surprising to see Seto make such a spectacle, since he'd told Ryou to keep his head down, and, if applicable, try not to dominate the section he was playing in. The women Ryou had gotten in trouble over earlier were in the growing crowd taking note of Seto's final match. Ryou could tell they recognized Seto from earlier. Ryou slinked away quietly before they had a chance to see him also, deciding Seto's last match wasn't worth being discovered. He knew Seto's dark, recklessly destructive mood, and he knew what the result would be. If Seto was intent on blowing their cover, he'd leave Seto to it.

"Here, you can keep the trophy," said Seto, handing over a glass bowl affixed on a wooden stand to Ryou who was already waiting in the car. "Use it to store hard candy or something. It should be great for that."

Ryou said nothing. He placed the trophy on his lap without looking over as Seto joined him in the backseat. It was getting late, and Ryou was tired. Seto'd stayed for the entire awards ceremony, which meant they now had a long appointment with the stylists to remove their disguises, and then a slow, boring evening helicopter flight until Ryou could finally go home to bed. It was a lousy time to not have brought a book to read.

"You've been withdrawn from your next tournament as well," said Seto, pulling at the edge of his false mustache, absently plucking it off bit by bit as he spoke. "We'll reconsider the pace at which you're being pushed to preform. Perhaps our schedule needs to be adjusted once more."

Ryou nodded, staring distractedly out the window to the buildings of Baraja City and wondering if he'd ever visit this place again to see the famous plaza in the center that he knew the city was famous for. He'd seen it in posters hung in the windows of a travel agency he passed on his way to school. It was almost funny. For the sake of tournaments, he'd traveled across more of the country than he ever would've dreamed, and yet he'd seen nothing but the various insides of different schools, community centers, and event halls.

"Your first match—well, I guess your only match—it was decent. You had a tough opponent," said Seto. "I'm surprised you won. I would've taken the gambit, but you still pulled it off. It took a while, but you didn't waste any moves. That's a good sign. You're thinking ahead better. You didn't let the queen intimidate you when the opponent activated it so early."

"Activating the queen so early was unnecessary, so I figured he was inexperienced," said Ryou. Once he could trust Seto wasn't going to bring up the argument from earlier, he was much more willing to communicate. "Therefore, I trapped the queen and focused on his king. I didn't think it was a tough match."

"You would've a month ago," said Seto. "You would've panicked when the queen came out and started focusing on defending from it above anything else without realizing it was a foolhardy move you could use to your advantage."

It took too long for Ryou to realize he and Seto were indeed still having the conversation from earlier. Seto was trying to prove to Ryou that he'd gotten better at chess without directly admitting it to him. Seto was too much of a pessimist (though he referred to it as being realistic) and therefore didn't do direct praise because he didn't think it was worth all that much. Praise went to people's head's, inflating their egos and making them lazy. Instead, he approached encouragement like an emotionally distant father who wasn't comfortable with delivering much beyond criticism, under the delusional belief that people were hardened faster and stronger with pressure. The constant threat of failure looming over someone accomplished more than puppies, sunshine and hugs combined. So, while it wasn't impossible for Seto to comment on how much less a person was sucking over time, he never for a moment let them get carried away with thinking they didn't still definitely suck.

"Thanks," said Ryou, but focused back on the outside of the window. He could tell something had changed, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Seto's tone, his mostly positive comments, the whole package—it all felt vaguely insulting. Patronizing. Ryou couldn't respond to it. Was he supposed to be happy? Was he supposed to be relaxed? Was he supposed to just take the apparent pity on face value and feel comforted in the knowledge that Seto was at least trying to coddle him, even if he sounded like he was treating Ryou as a small child?

Ryou sighed and imagined he caught a glimpse of the famous plaza through a row of buildings. He had no idea where it was supposed to be. Seto was also done trying to be nice and began to doze in his seat. It was still a long time until they would be back in Domino City. The trip was quiet the rest of the way.

###### Notes:

No notes here.


	17. A Rather Long Chapter

From the way the news when on about it, the world had simply not been ready for Seto Kaiba to start training Ryuuji Otogi. Ryuuji was a minor celebrity in his own right, which meant that he was bringing together two disparate groups of fans by aligning himself with Seto Kaiba. Seto's fans were normally aggressive game enthusiasts who had personalities that could really get behind someone as haughty and flippant about being told "no" as a child billionaire was wont to be. Ryuuji Otogi fans, on the other hand, liked showmanship and a duelist who was going to at least entertain them with banter if not with a win. Also, more of Ryuuji's fans were girls than Seto's. This indicated that not only was his sex appeal high, it was greater than a billion dollars' worth. In opposition to the aloof billionaire in the ivory tower that was Seto Kaiba, Ryuuji Otogi, Black Clown Game CEO, was the affable, approachable millionaire next door, and the chicks dug it.

"Yeah, chess is great. It's a classic game," said Ryuuji with a distracted glance at the crowd beyond the camera. He shot a quick, heartbreaking smile at someone, something, a banner with his name and a message painted on it, perhaps; it was impossible to tell what exactly. The trace of the smile remained on his lips as he looked back at the reporter, leaving a pleasant expression settled there that made the girls at home feel like they could easily wake up to that face, and that it would make them a passable breakfast.

"Many people are surprised to see you've turned your focus to a classic, though definitely still a highly competitive, game," said the reporter in preface to the next question. "Any plans for entering the professional chess world like your mentor, Seto Kaiba?"

"My mentor?" asked Ryuuji with a snort of laughter that was more amused that derisive. A million hearts broke at the mellifluous tone that rang out as he chuckled occasionally through his response. "He's a friend, really. A peer. He's helping with my chess game, but he's not going to be lording me around any time soon." On cue, there was a break for light laughter from the generous reporter and the viewers at Ryuuji's not so veiled reference to the fact that Seto didn't so much collaborate with others more as he commanded them and demanded outright obedience. Ryuuji didn't have a reputation for obedience. 

"What it is," Ryuuji lied, " _really_ , is that we both have tremendous school spirit and want to see Domino High compete for real before we graduate."

"Wow. It's truly impressive the amount of spirit and enthusiasm Domino High can inspire in its top students. Will you be representing your school in the junior circuit? Should we expect a new game title under your belt in the near future?"

"No," said Ryuuji with a dismissive wave. "I won't be competing with the team, but I definitely want a strong foundation in the game before I start helping to train them. Training with Kaiba is like a preliminary with the guy, you know? Like a test to reassure himself before he hands his precious team over."

"Do you think Kaiba dialing down his involvement with the school team has been a wise decision?"

"Yeah, sure," said Ryuuji with a shrug. "I mean, everyone's going to second guess it if the team does well while he's smiling with his arm around its shoulders in the winner's photos, right?" The audience laughed predictably at the suggestion the Seto Kaiba ever smiled. Maniacal laughter and smug smirks didn't exactly count. "People will talk regardless, but my understanding is that, at least this way, he can somewhat prove his team is good enough on their own and can win their own medals."

"But, I imagine having someone as famous and masterful in chess as Seto Kaiba as your coach is really a great motivation. Given the advantages of having such a renowned player in charge, do you think Kaiba leaving the team will dishearten those that have come to depend on him? How has it affected the team moral?"

Ryuuji feigned considering his reply, like it hadn't been coached to him beforehand. "I think his actions have been designed more to encourage the team than to please the press," he said. "I think Seto does what he does for the good of the team. You have to toss the baby birds out of the nest someday, you know? They're going to have to learn to fly. Plus," he leaned forward and affected a more confidential tone, "though he hasn't yet deigned to admit it, Kaiba's a busy guy, and his involvement with the team, to the level it has been thus far, is totally unsustainable. He's thought hard about it, and he's clearly decided it's better to let them go now than be forced to let them go later when the stakes are higher."

"So you're saying Kaiba will choose his company over the team?"

Ryuuji sneered. "Every day of the week. But, is there anything wrong with that? No, I don't think so. The team is important, but his company is always going to be the priority. I mean, it has his own name on it? Seto Kaiba more or less _is_ KaibaCorp, if you think about it." He paused and sat back to give everyone a moment to think about it. "Right."

"Speaking of KaibaCorp," said the reporter, suddenly eager, "it's been recently announced that your shops will carry the new, special edition Blue Eyes duel disk system. Is this sudden, increased collaboration with KaibaCorp a result of your recent chess collaboration?"

"Well, duh," said Ryuuji, never totally able to mask his underlying arrogance. Spokesman mode was immediately activated. "Black Clown, while having always carried KaibaCorp products, as any self-respecting game shop ought to, is now an exclusive retailer of the brand. We are happy to be able to provide these select, limited-release products to our customers, and if the CEO playing some chess with a classmate is what makes it happen, I will play that chess. It's not really an imposition. I like chess well enough."

"I would imagine you've already played against Seto Kaiba," said the reporter with a sagely nod. "Have you been able to beat him?"

"We've played, but he's a chess grandmaster, you know?" said Ryuuji. "I rarely even come close to winning."

The reporter took this as an indirect admission that no, Ryuuji hadn't won. "Well, Seto Kaiba is definitely a master," said the reporter in a serious way meant to commiserate, while not realizing the careless faux pas of calling a grandmaster a master. Obviously he wasn't talking of chess titles, but Ryuuji smirked, not missing the subtle hilarity of the inadvertent insult.

The reporter changed topics instead. Now that Seto playing chess has been brought up, it was time to dredge up the juicy gossip. "Last week you publically attended a junior tournament in Crown City. You released a statement there that you were attending as part of your training regimen with Seto Kaiba. There was some speculation that Seto Kaiba was also present in secret, especially after the rumors from the Baraja City amateur tournament earlier this month. Can you confirm that Seto Kaiba was there with you, or perhaps put these rumors to rest?"

"That's Kaiba's business. You'll have to ask him. I didn't see him, and I wasn't in Baraja City before, so I read the same reports you did concerning that," said Ryuuji evasively.

"Seto Kaiba doesn't divulge this sort of pertinent information to his star pupil, then?" asked the reporter, hoping to provoke Ryuuji with the implication..

Ryuuji grinned and refused to take the bait. "His star pupil knows better than to ask."

This was the last of the interview as far as Ryou and his friends could see it, as the channel was suddenly changed by someone in the back of the café who complained that talking talking talking was boring boring boring and they wanted to watch games being played. Ryou kept his head down and focused on his tall, icy beverage. Yuugi, who was in a good mood and had already seen the interview when it had been originally broadcast the night before, offered to go and get the channel changed back. Ryou assured him it wasn't necessary, noticing out of the corner of his eye that a girl in the booth full of fangirls at the back of the café return to her seat as she overheard this.

None of the occupants of the café had been watching the game channel for the interview, anyway. Yuugi had been interested in the national chess championship that was underway, which wasn't televised directly. Since most people wouldn't have cared to watch a potentially four-hour long final match as it played out by the minute, highlights were interspersed between the typical, repetitive midafternoon programing being shown on three of the five major game channels. The other two channels were going to show the actual finals, but the finals hadn't started yet, and the café didn't have those channels anyway. Despite the eternal popularity of the game, the Chess Channel (which was a real thing that really existed; in Domino City there was a specialized channel for virtually every game played competitively) was still a bit of a niche interested as far as broadcasting was concerned.

"You must be really excited for the chess championship," said Yuugi wistfully. He didn't love chess, but he definitely loved gaming competition in all forms. "You must know all the great players by now, right?"

"No," said Ryou with a touch of shame. He bet Yuugi knew the great players. Yuugi probably knew how to beat them, too. "I know some of the world champions' names, but I can't even spell half of them," Ryou confessed. "I didn't really study current, professional chess. Kaiba says—or, he said— that current grandmasters are too theoretical for my level, and so it would've been a waste of time for me to focus too much on their matches. We just looked at matches that are—uh, were—related to what I was learning at the time."

Ryou was a terrible liar and felt guilty about keeping secrets from his friends. Therefore, he had tremendous amounts of trouble keeping everything he said in the past tense when talking about his training with Seto. Yuugi was polite and pretended not to notice, but the same hadn't gone for Jounouchi, who'd called Ryou out for it after the first day. Jounouchi had kept his mouth shut, though, once Ryou had admitted to him what the real situation was. Thought it pissed Jounouchi of to no end that Seto was still meddling with the team, at least Seto was pulling away, and Jounouchi didn't want to slow that excruciatingly long goodbye down to even slower that it already was.

"You should really get Kaiba to bring you to a real match," said Yuugi. Like many people these days, he was puzzlingly inclined to telling Ryou what he should make Seto do, as if Ryou had any real sway over the guy. "I think it will make you enjoy the game more to be in that kind of an atmosphere. Watching great players always inspires me to do better. Excellence is truly amazing to watch."

"Yeah right," Jounouchi scoffed. He'd be silent thus far due to the immense concentration required to shove an entire club sandwich bigger than his face into his mouth without asphyxiating. Now he was picking at the crumbs and ready to provide his own invaluable input to the conversation. "Ryou'll just feel like he can't compete then and lose his nerve." He addressed Ryou directly. "Don't listen to Yuugi. You need to work on your own game instead measuring yourself against the games of others."

Jounouchi would've been appalled to know it, but nearly this exact sentiment was shared by none other than Seto Kaiba. Knowing that Ryou was minimally competitive in nature at best, Seto had become quick to guard Ryou from anything that might dampen what Seto imagined was Ryou's delicate, burgeoning self-confidence. This meant Seto shied away from introducing any topics he thought might overwhelm Ryou, and fended off anything he perceived as a threat to Ryou's progress. Ryou, meanwhile, continuously felt as though Seto treated him like an idiot and didn't trust him, especially now that Seto had withdrawn Ryou from all future tournaments. It was glaringly obvious that Seto didn't know how to deal with people who weren't intrinsically motivated to compete with others, and he seemed to attribute it to some sort of defect in Ryou's self-esteem or intelligence. He simply couldn't understand how someone could lose a game and not feel torn up about it afterwards, rehashing it ad nauseam until one went so far as to invent an entirely new gaming platform just to gain an edge in the rematch.

Seto was wrong in assuming Ryou didn't care about winning. No matter who you were, losing was never easy. It was still a sign of one's personal failure in something. The main difference, however, was that Ryou accepted losing as a fact of life, something natural. Loss was just one of the two opposite sides of the coin of competition, with one face for victory and the other for defeat. Seto, however, wasn't quite so into finding balance or accepting these kinds of dualities of life. When he flipped that damn coin, it wouldn't be chance that determined the outcome, and it was surely wasn't going to come up anything but victory, or so help him.

"Should we even be letting you follow the national championship anyway?" asked Jounouchi, motioning to the TV, which was now on another game channel broadcasting a Capsule Monster match. In the text on the bottom of the screen, the national championship updates were scrolling by in algebraic notation.

"I'm not even watching it," said Ryou brightly. "I'm not in chess class right now, so my chess brain is officially switched off."

"In that case, we should go to the arcade. I'm this close to wiping Kaiba's name off the top score list of Steel Ninja Toe Punch II. Once I get into a rhythm, I'll be unstoppable. I know it," said Jounouchi, already rising from his seat as he determined that this was indeed the best option for how to spend the afternoon with Yuugi and Ryou.

Jounouchi wasn't even close to mastering Steel Ninja Toe Punch II yet, much less beating Seto's high score. He'd only been playing for a week, and only because he'd seen Seto's arcade game handle dominating almost every slot of the top ten at the arcade near school. Not a single person alive was good at Steel Ninja Toe Punch II except Seto, because the game had been designed in an almost maliciously lazy fashion requiring a specific set of highly tuned fine motor skills to win that the average mortal teenager rarely possessed. Jounouchi, however, always shot for the stars, and he was unwavering in his quest to earn a place in the high score list.

"Okay guys, I'm gonna need a donation," said Jounouchi after going through his pockets and realizing he was short on cash. They were already at the arcade, so it was too late to go anywhere else as far as Jounouchi cared. "Pay up," he said. "I'm good for it. Really."

Jounouchi wasn't good for it. Ryou had given him arcade money countless times already, as had Yuugi, and it was like throwing money into a black hole that warped the reality around it so thoroughly that two days from now it would be like the transaction have never taken place. Mentioning it to Jounouchi either resulted in getting snapped at for nagging, or stared at vacantly as he swore up and down that he'd already paid you back the day before. Even so, Ryou and Yuugi pitched in as requested. Half the fun of visiting the arcade with Jounouchi was watching him spaz magnificently over some impossible game, and without some extra change in Jounouchi's pocket, that wasn't going to happen.

And god did Jounouchi ever deliver on the spazzing. Steel Ninja Toe Punch II hadn't see a change in its top score slots in two years. Jounouchi was soon swearing at it and threatening physical violence, occasionally turning to Ryou and assigning him a variety of colorful insults he could tell his buddy Seto next time he saw the guy. Ryou and Yuugi tried to keep Jounuchi more or less under control so they wouldn't get kicked out. Also, no-one was supposed to know Ryou was still hanging out with Seto. It was imperative Jounouchi keep this to himself, although when told to do so, he brazenly insisted that it was common knowledge by this point Ryou and Seto were perfect chums, if only due to the fact that Ryou was the singular person in existence physically capable of withstanding Seto's asshole presence for days and weeks at a time without attempting to kill one or the both of them out of sheer frustration with the direction his life had taken him in. Ryou deserved sainthood. Yuugi politely agreed with this, but implored Jounouchi to try to keep quiet about it anyway.

Ryou, meanwhile, soon found himself distracted from Jounouchi's feud with steel ninjas and their toes that punched by the television in the corner of the arcade. What had caught his eye was the unanticipated appearance his own face, or rather, his school photo. The set's speakers were muted and there were no subtitles, but Ryou could tell that this particular report about Seto and the Domino High chess club was talking about him right now. Seto had only announced recently that he was too busy to keep running the chess team, so the story of the team had reemerged in the news cycle. In turn, so had Ryou, though Seto and Ryuuji assured him that news about Ryou Bakura was well on its way out.

Ryou only seemed to have caught the tail end of this segment, as it soon moved on to Ryuuji Otogi instead. Ryuuji Otogi overshadowed all school chess team stories because, in addition to being Seto's celebrity chess pupil, people suspected he and Seto were not-so-secretly entangled. Enmeshed, so to say. As in romantically. And it was all Ryuuji's fault, to be completely honest. He hadn't been able to resist making the insinuation, because Ryuuji had a wild and off-beat reputation to maintain, and whipping interviewers into a frenzy with silly, suggestive tidbits about Seto Kaiba garnered more attention that even Ryuuji Otogi knew what to do with. Ryou and everyone who actually knew Ryuuji could tell he was just being a bit of a dick on camera for fun, but the media didn't—or didn't want to—see this. They treated it like real news, and Ryuuji had the time of his life egging them on and playing the clown.

Ryou told Yuugi and Jounouchi that he was thirsty, and went to purchase a drink from the soda machine and sit down a bit. He took a moment for silence reflection, his eyes boring holes in the far wall as the barely touched drink chilled his tightly wrapped fingers. He'd read his name in several articles online, and occasionally accompanying the articles was the exact same old photo taken when he was something of a duelist in Battle City. But now, seeing himself so suddenly on a TV, and with such a recent photo from school, gave him an odd, mixed feeling. Everything about him, his clothes, his hair, his facial features, felt agonizingly conspicuous. He looked around the arcade, expecting to find some stranger's eyes staring back at him with the light of recognition poorly concealed within their gaze. The players he saw were all more focused on their games than their surroundings, but what did that even mean? Maybe they'd recognized him, but went back to playing. He was still in his school uniform and everything. He looked exactly like his photo on TV except with a soda in his hand.

This sudden experience proved to be the seed of a doubtfulness that didn't stop growing. As Ryou's apprehension grew, he reached out to the only person he knew who wasn't going to either freak out at him (Jounouchi and Seto), offer useless optimism that didn't count as real answers (Yuugi and Anzu), or merely shrug and agree dimly that yeah, that sucked, man, shit (Honda). He met with Ryuuji Otogi.

"I thought Kaiba already helped you with this," said Ryuuji, already surprised when Ryou showed up at his office in the flagship Black Clown shop downtown. He was further surprised to hear that the reason for the visit was that seeing his face on the Game Channel news highlights had finally caused the fear of fame to hit Ryou at full force.

"He tried," said Ryou, holding very still in the armchair Ryuuji had invited him to take a seat in. He looked around him doubtfully, as he instinctively doubted everything he was confronted with now. The office here was boldly painted in a circus motif that befuddled the mind and threw off one's focus. Many visitors found it garish, and Ryuuji had developed a professional reputation off of it. Here was the crazy guy with the crazy office, the eccentric game inventor not tied down to plebian definitions of taste that extolled virtues such as restraint in room décor choice. Where mere mortals saw chaos and noise, Ryuuji found stimulation and a retreat from the boredom of the business world's muted color schemes and dreary impersonality. Ryuuji was an artist of games. His workspace was done up to match his own needs, and not the comfort of his transitory visitors. Once you passed through the office door, you were in Ryuuji Otogi's realm, and very little was going to be altered for your benefit.

It was starting to dawn on Ryou that perhaps Ryuuji hadn't been the best choice for advice. Perhaps he should've met with Yuugi and Anzu in an overly cute café, maybe featuring roaming cats, to talk about feelings and friendship. Hell, perhaps a manly slap on the back and an offer to play video games together for the rest of the afternoon from Honda would've been enough to get him through this. Ryou was surely going to regret involving Ryuuji, wasn't he?

"I'm sure Kaiba tried," said Ryuuji with a knowing nod. "He probably talked your ear off and then sent you home, assuming the problem had been solved through sheer logical understanding of its multifarious aspects. Kaiba doesn't get that analyzing and understanding backward and forwards why someone might feel a certain way doesn't fix how the person feels. You can't think a bad feeling away. It just isn't possible. Analysis is just another method to evade dealing or taking real measures because it gives a pretty great illusion being proactive about shit."

"Uh, yes," said Ryou, not sure if he was agreeing with Ryuuji or what. He wasn't totally sure he had even really been listening to what Ryuuji had been saying. "Anyway," added Ryou quickly, "I feel like I've bothered Kaiba enough."

Ryou then visibly winced as what he said reminded him of how, ever since he'd had far too impetuously expressed his lurking insecurity about his chess prowess to Seto, Seto'd started trying to say at least one positive thing at the end of every lesson. Seto insisted on this, even if he had to obviously make whatever he said up. Sometimes Seto encountered great difficulty in this, and compromised with saying something weirdly complementary and yet simultaneously insulting, like "that move wasn't bad for your level" or "you definitely wasted much less time getting there than normal", which sounded so forced Ryou imagined there was a gun being put to Seto's head even as the words left his mouth. Bizarrely, as Seto started delivering more compliments, he also became much stricter with Ryou when Ryou didn't know the material perfectly. It was as if Seto needed to balance out his new "niceness" with increased austerity, just in case the incredibly meager praise he was fabricating went to Ryou's head, somehow.

"He just needs to teach me chess, and that's it," said Ryou resolutely. "This…other stuff…I can turn to my friends for, right?"

"Certainly," said Ryuuji with a flickering smile. He seemed to doubt how interesting this tête-à-tête was going to be for him, but he wished to be amiable. He and Ryou were friends, and Ryuuji took friendship seriously, even if it was occasionally taxing for him. At Ryuuji's core, he was boundlessly sympathetic and kind, though he wasn't well practiced in openly expressing these more sensitive aspects of his nature.

"It's true Kaiba's not the best at dealing with people stuff, which you seemed to have figured out by now," said Ryuuji smartly. "I'm not great at it either," he confessed, "but at least I'll take a shot. What are friends for if not to help each other out and drown each other in whole oceans of well-intentioned bad advice?"

"Good," said Ryou, "awesome." He treated the last comment as if Ryuuji hadn't mentioned it because Ryou honestly had no idea how he was supposed to have responded. "So, like I said," Ryou continued, "ever since I saw my face on TV I have had this bad feeling like something is going to happen, like I'm not secure. People I don't know and have never met have noticed me and pointed me out to other people on an international game news channel. I don't understand why they care."

"No, no, they don't care," said Ryuuji brightly. He was happy to see this was turning out to be easier than he'd expected after seeing Ryou come into his office so morose and expressing such despair. "Not a bit! They only care about Kaiba, not you. No need to take it so personally. You've just had a fright, an unpleasant surprise."

"But they had my current school photo," said Ryou. "I took that a few months ago. It's literally the most recent photo I have besides the millions of photos Anzu and Jounouchi take with their phones every time we go anywhere."

"Then rest assured the news of you is on the decline," said Ryuuji. "Don't worry about the photo because the photo is not the important thing. If the paparazzi doesn't pursue you, then it's obvious no-one's paying for your photo. That's why they're fine with the boring school one."

Ryuuji got up from his desk then and moved to the couch across from Ryou. "Do you want tea?" he asked cheerfully in a change of subject. "I have a secretary now. I push this button on the office phone, and she comes in, and you ask her for tea. It's terrific. Try it."

"Um, okay," said Ryou, taking the wireless phone Ryuuji had brought over from the desk. He pushed the button Ryuuji indicated. Almost immediately there was a light knock on the door and a tall woman entered. She was taller than Ryuuji and just as pretty. In addition to similar taste in jewelry and equally copious amounts of eyeliner, she was covered generously in intertwined game related tattoos, which Ryuuji jokingly referred to as the house style. Ryuuji promised to get something similar done when he was older and his father could no longer tell him he wasn't allowed to have tattoos.

"We require tea," said Ryuuji, beaming. "Tea and chocolate. The dice shaped truffles that the people catering the exposition sent us. Bring some of those. Bring all of those. I can't remember which were my favorites." He waved as the secretary excused herself to fill the order. "You should see them, Ryou," he said as he leaned heavily into the couch back behind him. "They are very realistic. You can even roll them…kind of. They aren't perfectly balanced like actual dice, but we could use them to play a ridiculous match of Parcheesi. I had some sugar dice, too. They worked better, but I threw them too hard and they chipped."

Ryou smiled throughout all this and went along with it haltingly. He couldn't tell what Ryuuji was trying to do. Make him feel better with candy? Had that ever once worked on anyone older than ten in Ryuuji's entire life? Or was he just distracting Ryou by talking forever and pulling out a game board? Ryou was faintly aware Ryuuji was kind of terrible at offering help or advice, but it was sort of refreshing in the way it completely distinct from how Seto was terrible at the exact same thing. Apparently if you ran a world-famous game brand by sixteen, you were allowed to be crazy and out of touch. Ryuuji was probably just a few hundred million away from some bizarre, diced-themed jet and a pilot's license of his own, taking after Seto in the great Domino City tradition of wealth served with a heaping side of eccentricity.

"I forgot they came in so many colors," said Ryuuji as he opened the arrived box of dice shaped chocolates. "I can't remember the different flavors. They didn't leave a key, or I lost it already. Oh well, take one." He held the box out to Ryou, and Ryou politely took a shiny blue die with white pips. It turned out the candy coating itself was what was colored blue. Ryou had assumed it was covered in plastic, but Ryuuji assured him the entire thing was edible minus the fluted paper cup it was held in.

"What flavor is yours?" asked Ryuuji, taking a green one for himself.

"Something citrus," said Ryou, making a face. "Are all of these filled with cream?"

"They all have filling," said Ryuuji with a shrug. "Careful with the yellow or the orange. One of those has liquid coffee." [1]

"This one tastes like blue cheese for some reason," said Ryou, having picked a normal looking white die and eaten it next. "Why am I getting the terrible ones?" [2]

"Try a red one," said Ryuuji. "All this chocolate makes a person thirsty. I'll pour you some tea."

Ryou took a red one. The first sensation that struck him was that it was rather structurally sound (for lack of a better way to put it) considering it was a filled chocolate. Then, as if on some invisible cue, it exploded in his mouth and released a terrible liquid that spread everywhere. He had to react quickly to keep from spilling it out of his mouth. Forgetting his manners in his haste, he spit the chocolate out onto a napkin, but had already needed to swallow most of its surprise contents first. He looked at Ryuuji, eyes wide and horrified.

"Ryuuji, I think that was alcohol."

Ryuuji stared at him unblinkingly for a moment, looking from the napkin to Ryou and then back to the napkin. "You won't die," he said blankly. "Was it the coffee?"

"It was cherry," said Ryou. "Are all these chocolates with alcohol?" [3]

"Come to think of it, they do have a bit of a warming effect on the tongue," said Ryuuji thoughtfully. "I don't think it will get us drunk, but we can try."

"I wasn't going to suggest we get drunk off chocolates, Ryuuji."

"Oh," said Ryuuji, finally popping the green chocolate he'd grabbed originally into his mouth. He'd been holding out on Ryou, hadn't he? "Yeah, this one is bourbon. Or whiskey. I'm not an expert, but it's definitely with alcohol in the filling. It's not liquid, though. I guess you just got lucky." He grabbed the box from the table and began picking through it curiously. "Now I wonder if there's rum in here."

"Why," asked Ryou after a large gulp of tea, "did they send you alcoholic chocolates if you're not old enough to eat them?"

Ryuuji laughed at this as he went about smelling different chocolates in his apparent quest for rum. Unfortunately, they all smelled like sugar, so he risked a nibble at a yellow.

"People don't think of that stuff when you're famous," said Ryuuji. "Famous people have no minimum ages for anything."

"But isn't that illegal?"

"They're just chocolate," said Ryuuji, unfazed. "You'll throw up before the alcohol even hits you, because you'll have ingested so much sugar. It's perfectly safe for people our size. Only a small child might get drunk."

"So this sort of thing happens often enough that you're such an expert?" asked Ryou curiously.

"More than this, actually. I've been sent a bottle of wine before."

"What? Did you actually drink it?"

"Of course I did. And quickly, before anyone caught on."

"But wouldn't that get you sick?"

"Super sick."

Ryou nodded at this with an appraising expression. It made sense. If someone gave Ryou a bottle of wine, he probably wouldn't touch it, but he understood the temptation. Jounouchi and Honda occasionally snuck beer on weekends, though Ryou had little to do with it. Ryou was serious about following the law, and no amount of cool allure could draw him into breaking those rules. Plus, alcohol was not supposed to be good for the underdeveloped teenage brain, which was something Ryou was concerned with protecting. Perhaps this heightened level of caution made Ryou a loser, but whatever. He'd definitely be able to live that down if it was the worst thing ever said of him from here on out.

"Speaking of sick, I'm going to lie down," said Ryou, growing queasy with each passing minute. "My stomach doesn't agree with the chocolates."

"Take the couch," said Ryuuji, hopping up. "My secretary can bring a blanket and a pillow."

"No, I'm okay here like this," said Ryou, laying back on the couch. The part by his feet was still warm from where Ryuuji had been sitting a moment ago. "I just need to not be sitting up."

"Well, now I feel like I'm your therapist," said Ryuuji, chortling merrily to himself as he took the armchair. "Tell me about your childhood," he said in an affected voice meant to sound educated and snooty. He pretended the box of chocolates was a notepad to write his observations in.

"I actually have a question for you," said Ryou.

"Should I take the couch then?"

"I'm serious."

"Oh, then I'll be serious, too," said Ryuuji, his face becoming straight so quickly that Ryou knew he wasn't serious at all. It was better than nothing, though. At least Ryuuji was listening.

"How do you deal with being recognized the moment you enter a room? Like, everyone knows who you are, and you don't know even half of them?"

Miracle of miracles, Ryuuji's expression actually became serious for real. "You ask hard questions," he said, almost complaining. "You're assuming it's something to be dealt with, and in that case, I can't really help you. I should say you get used to it to make you feel better, but the thing is it's never made me all that uncomfortable. I hate more entering a room and no-one knows me. No-one sees me. I find comfort in reminding myself that somewhere, out there, at least one person loves me. She's got a poster of me on her wall, and she tells the me there smirking with impossible coolness back about all the things in her life and what has made her happy and what has made her sad. And I'm just the best fucking listener. I let her talk for hours, and in turn, she loves me. That's great. I like to know I make people happy. Even if it's just the tingly kind of happiness no-one would admit to outside a smut panel at a game convention."

"Are you telling the truth?" asked Ryou, knowing Ryuuji never said anything that took so long with 100-percent honesty.

"There's definitely some truth in what I just said," said Ryuuji. He was very focused now, avoidantly so, on the chocolates. "I told you I'm not great at…" he gestured vaguely into the empty air between them, "…people stuff."

"And why do you say what you say about Kaiba on TV? When you make fun of him? When you pretend you're not just studying chess together?"

Ryuuji narrowed his eyes and pulled a strand of hair. He smiled softly to himself as if remembering the punch line of a great joke.

"It gives people something to talk about," he said, still smiling.

There was a knock on the door then, interrupting them. The head of Ryuuji's secretary popped into the room. She announced that Seto Kaiba had arrived for chess. Ryuuji joked to Ryou in a quiet voice that Seto's ears must've been burning at Ryou's mention of his name, and he'd come running.

"What's Ryou Bakura doing here?" asked Seto upon entering the room. No hello, no stating of purpose. He only want to know what Ryou was doing sprawled out over the couch in Ryuuji's office.

"He's upset because he ate three alcohol filled chocolates," said Ryuuji, lying. "Ignore him. He thinks he's drunk."

"I don't think I'm drunk!" Ryou protested, making to sit up, embarrassed.

"Oh, he's awake. So I guess he's not as drunk as I thought he thought he was."

"I never for a moment thought I was drunk, Ryuuji."

Seto seemed to know better than to comment on whatever was going on here. Instead, he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch from Ryou to wait out whoever might win this. Would Ryou actually prevail in convincing Ryuuji to go back on a facetious statement he'd made? Hardly likely. Ryuuji was way better at inventing insults and frivolous comments than he was at admitting to or apologizing for any of them. It was a strange game he played against the world, and the world could only ever lose.

Seto plucked one of the neglected chocolates from the opened box and examined it as Ryuuji began to invent silly things Ryou had supposedly done while thinking he'd been drunk. Some of it was actually quite funny, especially now that Ryuuji had a captive audience to play to. Thus, Seto ignored it. Seto knew Ryuuji was trying to make him laugh, and that this had to be part of the game of the moment in this room. Lazily, he tossed the chocolate die on the table to observe how it rolled.

"Otogi," he asked as Ryou was otherwise occupied in the middle of a description of his third chocolate that had apparently exploded right in his face or something, "am I supposed to expect this sort of thing every time Bakura and I are in the same room as you?"

Ryuuji only grinned enigmatically back, pressing a finger to his lips as though Seto were interrupting Ryou and being rude. Seto shook his head and rolled the chocolate die again. Ryou was trying to clarify the difference between his stomach being upset and being drunk, though Ryuuji kept reminding him he'd never been drunk before, and anyways he'd only thought he was drunk, so in that case it didn't matter how he physically felt but how he'd mentally interpreted it. Needless to say, Ryou was soon on the verge of frustration, though he was too polite to get very angry.

"I believe you, Bakura," said Seto, cutting in at last. Ryuuji pouted slightly at Seto doing as Seto did best: killing a good time. Especially because Ryuuji had been having most of the fun. "I came here to talk about chess, not pester people about candy. You don't happen to have any chess candy around that would make this conversation even remotely relevant, do you?" He turned to Ryuuji directly. Ryuuji looked like he wished he did have chess candy, if only to have an excuse to suck Seto into a useless conversation about it.

"In that case, let's all try to focus," said Seto, deftly removing a surprisingly large, foldable chessboard from his coat and the accompanying chess set from his briefcase. "I think you'll agree this topic is much more interesting."

Ryou and Ryuuji, decidedly not all that interested, both slumped over and turned obediently to the chess practice; Ryuuji because it was in his schedule, and Ryou simply by force of habit. When Seto start talking about chess, Ryou started doing what he was told, even if today was supposed to have been a day off.

"I appreciate this enthusiasm," said Seto to the two drooping figures before him. "Let's focus on something useful. Bakura plays white. Otogi plays black."

"And you'll play teacher," said Ryuuji with a tired sigh.

"And I'll play badly," added Ryou.

"You're not the best here, but you're not totally inept," said Seto in an attempt to be reassuring. "Try not to make stupid mistakes."

Ryuuji snorted once, loudly, and then began to laugh. He continued to laugh to himself as he soundly beat Ryou in the next three matches, and then suggested they let Ryou go home because he was being such a good boy. Seto was reluctant to do this, but allowed it when Ryuuji asked what reason Seto had to force Ryou to stay when it was Ryou's day off. Seto said something about not wanting to be trapped with Ryuuji because it was torture, but he had to admit Ryuuji was right about it being Ryou's day off.

Ryou silently finished his cold tea and then left, faintly buoyed by the inadvertent discovery that if Seto had to pick either one to spend any length of time alone with, he'd choose Ryou over Ryuuji. Seto had basically said as much when Ryuuji questioned him, and Ryou took it as one real, albeit unintentional, compliment in the sea of forced praise and stilted reassurances Seto persisted in inundating him with.

On the walk home, Ryou felt oddly lightheaded, and wondered if perhaps Ryuuji was wrong about the chocolates not being able to get him at least a little drunk.

###### Notes:

[1] Look out for an Italian chocolate called Pocket Coffee, man. Ugh. Caution is advised. My strategy is to swallow the "coffee" first and then eat the chocolate like normal.  
[2] Blue cheese is what all champagne truffles taste like. Yuck. Caution is advised. My strategy is to keep buying them anyway, because I once had an awesome champagne truffle when I was 17, and I want to recreate that moment. Unfortunately, I just keep coming up blue cheese.  
[3] If you have never eaten a Mon Chéri chocolate, watch out. They are gross and filled with cherry and liquor. Caution is advised. My strategy is to spit them out because that chocolate is tainted and nothing will ever be good or wholesome about it ever again. Eternal bitterness.


	18. Meaningless, Mindless Obedience

Too many people were pressed against the glass outside, waiting to be let in for the book signing that would start an hour from now in the literature section of the Black Clown sales floor. So many spectators standing just out of view made Ryou uneasy, but Ryuuji assured him that Ryou wouldn't be noticed. Ryou wasn't as confident.

"If Kaiba finds out I'm here, I'm dead," said Ryou despairingly.

"Don't be such a coward," said Ryuuji cheerfully. He clapped a reassuring hand on Ryou's shoulder. "Kaiba would never look for you here, because he expects you to do exactly as he says. It's high time you test the limits of what you can get away with. And honestly, Kaiba should know better than to trust you anyway. He's usually so good about not trusting anyone."

"I'm actually kind proud of how much people can trust and depend on me," said Ryou. "It's a reputation."

"Well, then you have a great incentive to not get caught," said Ryuuji. "Stay close to me, and follow my lead."

Ryou took a deep breath and followed Ryuuji into the small meeting room where visiting grandmaster and world champion of three years ago, Nikolai Lem [1], sat reading a newspaper. Ryuuji strode forward confidently and shook Mr. Lem's hand with his typical aplomb. He then motioned for Ryou to come up and shake hands as well. Ryou's quick handshake was infinitely less self-possessed than Ryuuji's, but Ryou tried not to let too much his quiet apprehension show to the grandmaster. It was uncertain whether he'd really pulled this off, though. He'd completely forgot to introduce himself, for starters.

"This is my note taker, Ryou Bakura," said Ryuuji before the pause became awkward. He swiftly stepped up to introduce Ryou himself. "He writes so that I can more spontaneously ask questions and absorb the information without all the tediousness of jotting anything down."

Mr. Lem nodded, seemingly fine with this expected touch of eccentricity. Ryuuji was familiar to Mr. Lem now, as he and Ryuuji had spent the whole day together yesterday, exploring Domino City's attractions and game scene while Ryuuji played the gracious host. Ryuuji had forbidden any real chess conversation between them until now, though Mr. Lem's occasional, conversational references to the game were forgiven, because chess was Mr. Lem's life and clearly on the forefront of his mind at all times. Ryuuji proclaimed they'd put aside a real meeting to discuss chess later when Ryuuji was more inclined to retain whatever lessons might be taught him.

The result of the two's day together was that Ryuuji and Mr. Lem already got along well. They were plenty comfortable around each other by the time Ryou was introduced, and this left Ryou sitting mutely alone for the first several minutes of the meeting, feeling a little neglected as Ryuuji and Mr. Lem reminisced about the nightlife, which Ryuuji was surprisingly expert on despite his age, and the terrific lunch they'd enjoyed near the shore.

"Alright, now let's get down to brass tacks," said Ryuuji, feigning seriousness and yet truly meaning what he was saying. "As you know, I've begun to study chess with one Seto Kaiba. He's around your level, most likely better—I'm sorry if that's too forward, but it's true—and I was wondering if you could give me some insight on what it's like to play chess as a grandmaster. You were almost world champion last year, right?"

Ryuuji signaled Ryou to ready his pen and paper and start writing as Mr. Lem began to speak. The question asked was a question Mr. Lem knew well and had perhaps answered almost a hundred times already, but this didn't necessarily mean he always answered the question exactly the same. Sure, the hundredth answer might start out more or less along the same lines that it'd started out on ninety-nine times before, but it swiftly devolved into messy rambling filled with good points all strung together haphazardly only as Mr. Lem remembered them and without a clear framework to hold them together. Mr. Lem was much better at chess than he was with speaking, which was something he couldn't really be faulted for. His job was chess. It was how Mr. Lem devoted his time and defined his purpose on the Earth, though perhaps that definition was five paragraphs worth of mixed metaphors and redundancies longer than it should've been.

At any rate, Mr. Lem's replies were absolute murder for Ryou's hand as Ryou endeavored to get the most of what seem barely more than stream-of-consciousness maunderings down on paper.

Ryuuji asked a few more questions of a general nature related to chess, questions about studying, practice, preparation for different sorts of matches and how crucial the right openings might or might not be at the grandmaster level, as apparently there had been some debate on this recently. Some of what Ryou wrote down Ryou only understood in a purely conjectural way, far off in the part of his brain that knew cause and effect and could piece the opinions Mr. Lem expressed together based on what made logical sense. Ryou understood many of the grandmaster's ideas and how he'd come to them, but at the same time, Ryou couldn't have come up with anything like it himself. The experience was like laying in the wet sand and being hit with a wave, knowing full well that the wave was composed of water and salt and other particles, but having no idea how the wave had been formed or why it receded instead of continuing the press forward. Such ignorance didn't exactly mean one was incapable of understanding the process of the wave's movement if that process were to be explained, but it certainly wasn't something one automatically knew or could feasibly figure out as the water rushed in and surrounded the body at that very moment.

Mr. Lem, of course, thought he was teaching Ryuuji, offering Ryuuji valuable advice that Ryuuji could carry with him as he delved deeper into the world of chess as Seto Kaiba's star protégé. What Mr. Lem didn't know was that he was offering his advice and perspective to Ryou, who was the one recording his answers. Ryuuji'd decided it should to be Ryuuji himself who Mr. Lem spoke to, as he was afraid the grandmaster might talk down to Ryou as child who was toying with the game for the moment but would soon forget it for girls or university entrance exams. Ryuuji might not have had a reputation of being the most serious person due to the overly relaxed, often playful nature of many of his interviews, but it was unanimously agreed that he was extremely serious about games. Those who impertinently assumed he might not be were swiftly corrected, until Ryuuji was known just as much for his acerbic remarks as he was for his more common glib ones.

"Alright, well, if I'm not mistaken, you have a few hundred books to sign," said Ryuuji once the short meeting had come to an end. Ryou's hand was aching from the pace he'd had to maintain throughout the conversation. When he looked down at it, he believe he could see it tremble slightly. Once Ryuuji left the room with Mr. Lem, Ryou focused on prying his cramped fingers from the strangle hold they had around the pen he'd been writing with.

"So, what did you learn?" asked Ryuuji after returning to the meeting room a few minutes later. Ryou had been left waiting and looking over the hieroglyphics that were his rushed notes while Ryuuji'd introduced Mr. Lem to the crowds and given a short speech.

"I learned that I don't think about chess nearly as deeply as Mr. Lem does," said Ryou, absolutely defeated. "Thinking that Kaiba is even better than Mr. Lem at chess depresses me, because I'm pretty sure not even Kaiba thinks about chess as much as Mr. Lem does."

"Kaiba certainly isn't about to write a book on the subject, no," agreed Ryuuji. He tossed a book over to Ryou as he sat down, and Ryou recognized it as Mr. Lem's. It was signed on the first page with a forgettable, generic sort of dedication made out to Ryou. "But, then again," said Ryuuji, "chess isn't Kaiba's career, is it?"

"Only because it would bore him," said Ryou, flipping through the book before him absently. According to Ryuuji, the book went something like "here's my top 70 games I don't cringe when I look back on" for three hundred and fifty pages and then ended.

"That's true," said Ryuuji. "People like Kaiba and I create things. We aren't stimulated by mastering games alone. We need something more, to be involved in some higher step in the process. We prefer to move on to an aspect beyond merely playing."

"Yeah, something like that," said Ryou, nodding in agreement. He looked back down at the notepad resting on his lap, scratching his head with the end of his pen thoughtfully. "Was there anything in particular that I was supposed to have got out of this?" he asked. "Was there a reason I risked losing Kaiba's trust forever, other than learning what I already know: that grandmasters are really, really into chess?"

"Um, you were supposed to realize that a grandmaster is human and not too different from everyone else," said Ryuuji, unsure if Ryou had picked anything like that up at all. "Perhaps then the prospect of becoming and being good at the game wouldn't intimidate you so much. Kaiba told me you don't think you're any good."

"Kaiba's already told me a million times that chess is only a game," said Ryou. He sighed and placed the notepad on the table in front of him, pushing Mr. Lem's book he'd never read off to the side. "What you get out of the game is proportional to the work you put into it. Therefore, I already expected the grandmaster to be a normal person who was just really, super into chess. Kaiba is constantly reminding me that chess player stereotypes are only stereotypes. Even if I'm not the stereotypical genius or a some prodigy, I can still play a decent game by working on my skills."

"Seto Kaiba told you that?" asked Ryuuji incredulously. "Because, I was pretty sure Kaiba thought he himself was great at everything precisely _because_ he's a genius. Like, he's got better brainwaves than us and all that."

"Well, Kaiba divides the world into two very specific groups: himself and everyone else," said Ryou, not actually trying to be funny, but causing Ryuuji to burst into impish laughter nevertheless. Ryou frowned in thought. "What I mean is how he judges all of us 'normal' people doesn't apply to himself. He can be insightful to human nature at times, but it's more like he thinks he's figured everything out and is better than everyone else. Like the world can be defined in a collection case studies, and he's the unbiased observer taking all the notes."

"You're absolutely right," said Ryuuji apologetically. He wasn't sorry for laughing. He was sorry for how much Ryou had to put up with Seto Kaiba. "It's just that I keep forgetting how much time you've had to suffer alone with the guy. You know him best. I guess we only need to defer to you on all things Seto Kaiba related from now on."

"I don't really know him," said Ryou, starting to turn red as he became embarrassed at the implication that he and Seto might be in any way close. Being close to Seto Kaiba was an exclusive club that even someone who often spent five consecutive days a week in Seto's presence was not allowed to enter. "We only talk about chess."

"You can still learn a lot about a person just talking about chess with them," said Ryuuji with a grin that suggested he knew more about this sort of thing than Ryou perhaps did. When Ryou spoke about chess with people, Ryou's thoughts were only of chess, and apparently that left him in the dark on the secrets chess could reveal about others. "You can learn about how a person thinks, what is important to them," said Ryuuji to give Ryou an example. "You can also learn a lot about a person just by working together with them a lot, and I'd say you work with Kaiba on chess."

"I do what he tells me to do," said Ryou flatly. "It isn't some mutual collaboration."

"Then maybe you'd get somewhere if it were," Ryuuji suggested. Ryuuji arched a brow inquiringly as he said this, which gave Ryou the impression that Ryuuji was hinting at something he thought was incredibly obvious. Ryou couldn't see it. Ryou was a bit terrible at predicting what people were thinking, and it was reflected in his chess play as well as in his general obliviousness when people like Ryuuji painstakingly tried to hint things to him instead of outright telling him. Thank god Seto was so naturally straightforward most of the time, or else Ryou probably wouldn't have learned a damn thing about chess or anything else from him.

"So…I should tell Kaiba how to tell me how to play chess?" asked Ryou, somewhat perplexed and with a tone like he thought this was madness. "As if I have any idea?"

Ryuuji slapped a hand on his forehead dramatically, loudly. He did this because wanted Ryou to know that getting through to Ryou was the most difficult thing Ryuuji'd be tasked with doing so far this entire week. "Cut Kaiba some slack; he's good a chess, not mind reading," said Ryuuji. "He needs feedback. Like more feedback than just going over your results every tournament."

"He got loads of feedback when I told him I don't like chess, and he got pissed, and now I spend hours reciting lines from the biggest book of openings you've ever seen," said Ryou despondently, totally against the idea of sharing any more "feedback" with Seto than he already had. "He thinks it will improve my confidence if I have an encyclopediatic knowledge of chess basics. He says I depend too much on an intuition I haven't fully developed, and so that means I need to study everything from the fundamentals up again and get it down perfectly."

Ryou stared off wistfully with a slight, rueful sigh that was more than a touch on the dramatic side. Ryuuji had a knack for bringing out the dramatic in people. "You know, I haven't actually played a real chess match in ages," Ryou mused. "It's like…math or something now. Just painful memorization from books. Endless problems to solve and zero fun. Just _work_."

Ryou silently slumped over in his chair, clearly unhappy with Seto's new approach, but entirely unable to communicate to Seto that he was suffering. Yes, Ryou could be pretty meticulous when building dioramas or planning out RPG campaigns, but even Ryou's nerdiest, most time-consuming hobbies had nothing on Seto's current teaching style. Even now, thinking about Seto standing over him silently as he read over pages upon pages of tactics, patterns and development sequences, caused Ryou to feel as tired and miserable as if tomorrow's scheduled class had already begun. 

It seemed Ryou was always carrying inside him one of two very specific, chest-tightening emotions everywhere he went: he was either in chess class feeling unbelievably miserable and stupid, or he was out of class feeling sick with the dread of having to return. Beyond these two states, he felt very little else. He believed he might be falling into something like a depression, a sort of hopeless, helpless apathy as his agitated emotional self shut itself down in an attempt to deal. This was all becoming too much for his nerves to bear.

"You look beat," said Ryuuji. He was concerned about the change that had come over Ryou as they spoke of his chess lessons. "Maybe you need a break."

Ryou was quiet a moment, thinking deeply if he should say what he truly wanted to say. This happened too much now, this hesitation to speak and tell people something was wrong. He'd always been too reticent, too reluctant, even when there was a whole other evil being in his head threatening his friends and exposing Ryou to physical violence. The experience had taught him that maybe he shouldn't keep painful things to himself, even if a serious problem of such caliber as his other self was unlikely to ever occur again.

"What does Kaiba do when you guys practice chess?" asked Ryou, not sure what he wanted to hear in answer. Did he hope Ryuuji was treated the same? That Ryou wasn't being singled out? "Do you even do anything chess related?"

"Sure," said Ryuuji. "Kaiba's an obsessive guy, and he likes to win, so we play a few matches. I raise the ante by telling him that every time he loses, I'll embarrass him on TV, but he still goes for it."

"And if you lose?"

"He finally fucking leaves. So either way, I guess I win."

Obviously Ryuuji Otogi wouldn't play a game he didn't benefit from no matter what the outcome. For all his love of dice, he didn't take well to a risk he couldn't somehow spin so that the negative outcome took on a positive aspect. He wasn't interested in winning so much as he was super interested in not losing anything that really mattered to him. Testament to that was the fact that he'd gone far enough to invent an entire game to challenge Yuugi Mutou and then hadn't told Yuugi how to play it, all in order to increase his odds of victory, because even a rigged victory was an earned victory, albeit by questionable means.

"That's it? You play chess?" asked Ryou.

Ryuuji shrugged. "What else would we do? He's not a sparkling conversationalist by any means. You already know that."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Why? What do you do in your lessons? I imagine he actually teaches you chess, right?"

"I guess."

"You guess? Does he teach you or not?" demanded Ryuuji. "Of course, knowing the irritatingly intense kind of guy Kaiba is, he might just be teaching you to hate it, too."

"I don't hate chess…well, yet," said Ryou, failing spectacularly at hiding the fact he was actually very close to the verge of wanting nothing to do with the game ever again. "But yeah, it's demanding," he admitted, ashamed to have said so much.

"I'm taking it that this is a new development?" asked Ryuuji with some surprise. "You didn't seem so bad off before. But, now that I'm talking to you about this, I can see something in your attitude has changed."

"That makes sense," said Ryou. The next part tumbled out of his mouth without him thinking, so desperate he was to share with someone just how tired and frustrated he'd truly become. The decision to speak had almost been made for him by the circumstances themselves. His was not the kind of accumulated stress one could easily keep to oneself.

"Kaiba recently changed how he teaches," Ryou started slowly, solemnly, as if confessing to a crime. "I have to know everything absolutely perfect now, and…it's hard. He says I have a weak foundation, and that it undermines my confidence, so now I have to master the basics. I do this mostly by reading worksheets and memorizing opening lines. And the whole while, he just stands there, watching me, making sure my eyes don't wander off the page or stay in one place or shut for longer than the average blink would take. And it's kind of scary. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of, since the most he ever does is snap at me when I go off track. But, if I had to explain it, I should say it's sort of like he's become the kind of teacher everyone thought he'd be when I first started, cold and demanding, ruthless. And I feel like it's probably my fault, because before I said anything, it was better than this."

"How is Kaiba being a typical ass your fault?" asked Ryuuji. He couldn't help but lean in close. Ryou was making this all sound especially ominous with his furtive tone and strange secrecy. Ryuuji responded in turn by keeping his own voice down.

"Because it started getting more like that after I told Kaiba I didn't care, that I just studied chess because I wanted good grades. After that, the lessons got simpler, but he got a lot stricter. And now he's cold. And creepy, because he keeps offering these really fake compliments and…I wish he didn't say anything at all because it's just so weird."

Ryuuji scoffed. "Well, clearly you've maxed out Kaiba's ability to empathize, and he's flailing pathetically in the aftershock. God damn, Ryou."

Ryou just shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not sure what else needed to be said. He'd spilled his anxieties and problems for Ryuuji to evaluate, and Ryuuji was just…laughing at it. Which was something Ryou perhaps should've expected, as Ryuuji was not the most empathetic person Ryou knew. But then, this was probably what Ryou wanted. He didn't want to tell his problems to anyone who might actually worry and take some kind of action. He told them to Ryuuji, because Ryuuji turned everything into a joke. It was how Ryuuji dealt with being absolutely terrified and uncertain of his place in the universe as he struggled to fill the vacuum of meaning left by his lifelong mission of revenge against the Mutou family going belly-up. Perhaps it was a habit learned from years of focusing only on salvaging the Otogi family honor, but Ryuuji was really bad at thinking seriously about anything that wasn't Ryuuji Otogi, or at doing anything that wasn't intended to entertain Ryuuji Otogi and hardly anyone else.

"Maybe you should confront Kaiba," said Ryuuji. This was much easier said that done, and Ryuuji knew that. "Keeping your mouth shut just guarantees you'll suffer in silence. Kaiba's the only person I think who can really help you with this."

"I'm not a person who confronts people," said Ryou like this invalidated any course of action Ryuuji might propose that required some confrontation. It didn't.

"You're not competitive, you don't confront people, you just get along; I know," said Ryuuji, rolling his eyes. "I'll just call Kaiba now, then."

"What?" asked Ryou, turning pale as Ryuuji pulled his phone from his pocket. "Why?"

"To give him something to confront you about, since you're not going to do it yourself," said Ryuuji. "I'm tired of these complaints you keep telling me. I want to try to fast-track some kind of resolution so that you and I can go back to talking about interesting things, _important_ things, like who has the best looking fangirl, or who has the longer hair. By the way, I'm pretty sure I'm winning on the hair front. After I'm done calling Kaiba, I'll let down my ponytail so we can compare."

Ryou made a grab for the phone then, all the nervous energy in his body propelling him forward in a move that under normal circumstances he might've considered to be a tad aggressive. When he'd started telling Ryuuji his problem, Ryou'd hoped Ryuuji would simply shrug and count for Ryou all the ways life was always going to be awful, and then admonish Ryou by reminding him how there were many people who had much bigger problems than a billionaire game professional coaching them to play chess using a method they didn't like. Against Ryou expectations, the impulsive, capricious nature of Ryuuji had turned in another direction entirely, and he was going to betray Ryou's trust in the most friendship-breaking manner possible.

"Please don't tell him what I said," pleaded Ryou, giving up on his scramble for the phone, as Ryuuji was clearly a brat and much more skilled at playing keep-away than Ryou was. He'd already stunned Ryou by hitting him in the head with a die before Ryou even got close. It hadn't hurt; Ryou's voluminous bangs had lessened the blow. But, it had called Ryou back to reality. Now, Ryou could see his only course of action was to beg. Ryou was not above this.

"Please, please do not tell Kaiba anything," said Ryou again, this time trying to pile all his desperation into the plea so it would be clear to Ryuuji just how serious Ryou was about this. "It will sound worse coming from you. Kaiba'll think I'm complaining about him to everyone behind his back."

"But that's exactly what you're doing," said Ryuuji. "Is it not?"

"But I've only told you," said Ryou. "I'm not complaining to everyone. So please, just keep this between us. Don't tell him I hate chess and it's his fault. He knows I don't like it much, but if he knows he's made me outright hate playing, he'll...I have no idea, but it will probably be something weird and terrible."

"Oh, I wasn't going to tell him you hate chess," said Ryuuji, beaming as if this clarification somehow resolved all the tension between them. Ryou felt little change. "I was just going to tell him that you met with a grandmaster without his permission. Anything more than that would be your job. I'm not going to tattle."

"But…but you're kind of tattling on me right now if you call Kaiba, no?" asked Ryou, confused. "You told me I would have to try not to get caught. You said Kaiba trusted me too much to do what he told me to."

"And I also said Kaiba should know better than that," Ryuuji reminded him. "This will be a reality check for him. You can't stop me."

Indeed, Ryou couldn't. Unless he hovered in Ryuuji's presence for the rest of the day, there was no way he could stop the call from taking place after he went home for the night. It was more logical to start preparing his defense for when Seto eventually put Ryou on the spot for his rule breaking and called down whatever punishment he saw fit in response. Ryou could only site back and deal, squeezing his eyes shut in silent, rigid, anticipatory dread, like a child obediently holding up his sleeve at the doctor's, yet unable to face the sight of the stinging needle that would introduce whatever obligatory concoction of preventative medical science had been destined for him.

"I expect you to make good use of this opportunity," said Ryuuji helpfully as he flitted through the contacts on his phone. Seto wasn't exactly someone you kept on speed dial, because Seto wasn't all that good for anything in an emergency that wasn't directly tied to his person or Mokuba. "Use it as a chance to complain to him about how he's stifling your progress by making chess too much of a responsibility and less of a game."

"But it is my responsibility," said Ryou.

"And it's still just a game," Ryuuji countered. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear. In the sudden quiet, Ryou could hear it ringing as loudly and clearly if he were calling Kaiba himself. He swallowed and waited, unsure what he could do next, or to where he could hope to escape.

###### Notes:

[1] Nikolai Lem is no-one's name that I know. Nikolai is Nikolai Gogol's first name, and Lem is Stanisław Lem's last name. Those were the authors of the two books nearest to me when I wrote the chapter.


	19. Knowing Better

The most Seto had ever utterly and unabashedly lost his shit at Ryou was in a tournament they'd attended a month before. It was a little before they'd started attending amateur adult competitions, so Ryou had been playing junior competitors and was still obligated to pretend Seto was his ill-tempered, adult coach and not his classmate. Secretly, Ryou suspected the change to adult amateur tournaments soon afterwards had been decided in response to what had happened that fateful day. Seto had clearly been given reason to suspect Ryou was perhaps weak against younger children, and had thus removed Ryou from further competition with them. He desperately wished to reduce the risk of Ryou repeating, what Seto believed, to be the most blasphemous offence of all in competitive game play: throwing one's own match out of pity.

From the beginning, the tournament hadn't been going especially well for Ryou. Due to gaps in his working knowledge of play, Ryou had been struggling to take the initiative, and therefore the advantage, away from his opponents when he played with the black pieces. Although chess was a competitive game and therefore required at least a modicum of aggression and opportunism, it seemed as though Ryou considered it out of place or rude for him to behave in such an overtly assertive way, and he resisted it unconsciously. This led to many drawn out, meandering matches whenever he played against someone of less skill who couldn't appreciate an advantage when they had it, in spite of Ryou almost self-destructively endeavoring to let them keep it.

Still, none of this had totally surprised Seto at the time. Seto hadn't been upset with Ryou for his lack of aggression or anything resembling an opportunistic bent, because Seto had already said that the tournaments were a training ground for Ryou to overcome these faults. Tournaments were an important opportunity for Ryou to compete against a diverse group of opponents he didn't personally know. If Ryou played strangers, Seto asserted, then Ryou couldn't predict the type of game the person would play, which would then force Ryou to play the board more than the individual. Seto accepted that there might be a learning curve to endure, and while he was openly annoyed when Ryou came back to him after his round with yet another timidly drawn out match, such matches didn't merit losing Seto's notorious temper over.

In the end, it hardly mattered that Ryou hadn't been setting out to piss Seto off intentionally. Ryou never was, but one of the opponents that day had been a boy younger than him who was clearly participating in one of his first competitive matches. The boy was visibly anxious and had responded to being put in check by shutting his queen out of its best vertical line through moving his king in front of it for no good reason. To get out of the check, it would've served him better to move his queen into the line of fire instead, as the queen would've remained next to and protected by the king should the enemy want to capture the queen and force an exchange. Moving the king instead was a blunder, as the only remotely powerful and accessible piece near to the king was its queen. With this one poorly considered move, the queen had been effectively sundered from play and would require two moves the player didn't have to extract it from its poor position and make it effective once more. [1]

Ryou had already positioned his rook to cut off the king's escape down the adjacent rank, while his bishops and his queen confined the enemy king to an area of a few squares. Only the powerful queen would've been able to answer these multiple threats closing in, and currently the queen was trapped behind its blundering king. 

In the moment before sealing his victory, however, Ryou chanced to look up at his opponent's face. He noticed the despair, the eyes welling up with tears in shame and sorrow as the boy saw the mistake he'd so clearly just made. There were only a few turns left. If they'd wanted, they could've called the match right then without playing it out. But, the boy didn't make a sound. He silently looked on, anxious and dejected with his bottom lip ever so slightly quivering, waiting for the moves he knew for certain Ryou would make next.

Ryou felt like crap. This boy was obviously not enjoying playing chess, especially not when he was taking his eventual loss so personally. Ryou's soft heart stayed his hand and wouldn't allow him make the obvious next move. He didn't want to destroy the younger boy's self-esteem or his enjoyment of the game, especially when the boy was taking his wins and defeats much more seriously than Ryou took his own. Ryou imagined the boy might have a coach or parent as hard as Seto was, and that maybe there was more than just disappointment in the boy's amplified reaction.

Without sparing nearly enough thought for the consequences, Ryou dismantled his attack. The bishop, which had put the king into check originally, backed off. [2] Eagerly, the boy took advantage of this to return his king to its original position. Next, Ryou put the threatening rook into a corner it didn't necessarily belong in, and his opponent responded by finally unleashing his queen. Forty tiring turns later, Ryou's opponent had won the match.

If the boy had noticed that Ryou had thrown the match for him, he didn't express it much beyond an exuberant shaking of hands once the game had ended. Ryou didn't mind. Ryou hadn't come here to win, only to practice, and perhaps he could convince Seto of that, too, when he saw him in a few minutes and showed him the results. Maybe knowing how to perfectly pull an attack apart was just as good of a practice as knowing how to develop one?

Seto, unfortunately, didn't agree. The tournament ended up being the first one Seto pulled Ryou out of in order to more fully lose his mind in the peace of the car without having to worry about Ryou making it to his next match in twenty minutes, or any other matches for the rest of the day.

Seto Kaiba, as a general rule, was not a man of many varied, nuanced emotions, and so his outright fury at what he clearly saw as Ryou's audacity to lose a match out of pity could not be adequately restrained. He threatened to cut Ryou off, to break their contract, to give up on the farce of coaching him entirely. Chess, Seto did not hesitate to remind Ryou constantly, was not a game of luck or chance. Success was tied directly to skill and drive, and while Seto could teach Ryou all the skills in the damn world, he couldn't easily conquer the internal problem that existed within Ryou determining Ryou's unambitious and unconcerned attitude. And yet, Seto was doing his best to train Ryou anyway, and Seto was doing a good job. The problem was Ryou, who was still thinking of his opponents as human beings, with mundane things such as bad days and poor showings affecting their play. Those factors, Ryou needed to understand, were impossible to account for in every match, so Ryou was better off viewing his opponents as impersonal set of hands that moved the pieces across the board between them. The individual human beings that operated those hands were entirely inconsequential.

This outburst and the sullen silence that followed were the first time Ryou had ever felt something akin to real alarm for himself in Seto's presence. The fundamental differences in how they both saw the world were put on stark display, leaving both Ryou and Seto feeling hopeless in facing the daunting task of trying to overcome each other. Seto found he couldn't coax "sense" into Ryou, nor could he merely yell it into him, and Ryou found that not consistently playing to Seto's standards for him like a soulless machine was the worst crime imaginable. In response, Ryou resigned to keeping his head down for the indeterminate future, as it was the only defense he knew to deal with constant stress weighing down on him.

Unfortunately, having recently gone with Ryuuji Otogi to meet the grandmaster Nikolai Lem didn't exactly qualify as keeping one's head down. It was brash and stupid, and Ryou knew he shouldn't have done it. For this act, Ryou was expecting Seto to lose his temper like before, to get loud, to grumble, and to guilt Ryou for going against Seto's plan for him. As far as Ryou could tell, there was no other emotion but rage that Seto knew for dealing with a subordinate's inacceptable behavior.

"So you and Ryuuji have been spending time together? That's fine, he's your friend," said Seto coolly after Ryou had caved and told him about the meeting with the grandmaster. Seto hadn't mentioned it once since the class had started, but Ryou couldn't bear waiting for Seto to say something. Ryou knew Ryuuji had told him. Ryou'd listened in on the phone call.

"I did something like that without telling you," said Ryou, confused with the lack of yelling and hoping Seto would hurry up and get mad at him so they could put this behind them all the more quickly. "Maybe I've ruined your curriculum?"

"I'm sure Ryuuji dragged you into it," said Seto with an indifferent shrug. He calmly set up the board at the end of the table, placing the chessmen with precision in the exact center of each of their designated squares. To accomplish this, looking at Ryou as he spoke was not an option.

"So…you're not mad?" asked Ryou.

"I'm not happy about it, but it can't be helped. I should've expected that curiosity would take over and you'd go beyond the limits I set for you," said Seto. He smirked darkly as the next thought struck him. "Perhaps I should be relieved. Perhaps you taking your education into your own hands means you're actually interested in becoming a good player even on your own time." He paused and then stopped smirking, face set back on empty in a flash. "Of course, that's hard to believe. Like I said, Ryuuji's probably the one who dragged you along."

"He didn't force me to be there," said Ryou. For some reason, he was compelled to dig an even deeper grave, as though he wasn't laying down in it already. "He suggested we go, and I agreed. I agreed with him that it might be something worth trying to get me interested in…."

The truth would've been to say it would've make Ryou interested in playing chess again.

"…in being a better player," Ryou finished awkwardly. It was far from subtle that he was most likely lying.

"Better how, exactly? You're not that terrible player of a player," Seto corrected him. He'd made a point of reminding Ryou of this recently. _Ryou wasn't totally terrible._ He wasn't the greatest player out there, sure, but there was still a whole high school chess team worse than he was, so he wasn't all that poorly off, either. "Technically speaking, you're already good enough for what I need you to do for me in the upcoming school tournament."

Though it was fully setup by now, Seto's eyes remained on the chessboard near to him instead of on Ryou. "The problem," Seto said, brushing a wobbly rook with the knuckle of his left hand, "is that I can't depend on you to get the job done. I can't rest assured that, if in your first match you play some kid with a sob story or a terminal disease or whatever, you won't just hand them a victory out of pity. Or, that if you play someone who's overly confident and threatens you, you won't just cave and lose the match just to get away from them."

Seto plucked the rook up from the board and scrutinized its unleveled bottom surface. He continued, still talking to this queenside rook apparently, because Ryou was a person and more difficult to deal with than an inanimate object, "I can't trust what the hell you'll do when the time comes to compete for me, because you yourself have no idea. You only decide what you'll do when you get there."

"I won't throw any more matches," said Ryou in earnest. He hadn't forgot. Seto's reaction to that sort of thing was etched in his brain forever. "I told you I wouldn't do that again. I won't even look at my opponent if you think that will help. They're just hands moving pieces; I should focus on the match first," he recited perfectly.

"Do whatever you think will help. But know that what I really need is from you is the assurance that you'll want to win for me more than anything else," said Seto. He placed the rook down firmly in its place. "That you'll want to win more than any fear or pity you might have for your opponent. I need winning for me to be your goal before you even pass through the tournament hall doors. I need that to be the one thing that cannot be compromised."

A silence hung in the air between them for a moment, as it always did when Ryou was at a loss for words. Seto didn't mind. Sometimes he paused for dramatic effect only, not expecting Ryou to provide any input whatsoever. Ryou didn't know this. His mind was racing for something to say, but coherency seemed to have been left in the dust.

"So, tell me. What can I give you besides grades to make sure you'll do what I need you to do?" asked Seto. His eyes finally met Ryou's, and Ryou looked away. Ryou kept his general gaze on Seto's face to show that he was paying attention, but now tracked the area around Seto's mouth and chin instead of his eyes.

"Do you want money?" Seto tried. "You know you're already going to earn the scholarship that's been offered to the team. But maybe you want some money for yourself? Don't be afraid to ask for that. I'm used to it. In fact, paying you would be easy, because then it would feel less like I owe you a favor after."

"I don't need money," said Ryou.

"Truly spoken as someone who's never had to earn it," sneered Seto. He was right.

"Perhaps give me a day to decide?" asked Ryou. "Until then, can we just practice with the clocks again, like last week? I think I'm getting better at that. Also, I'm a little tired of reading."

"You'll just have to catch up by reading at home, though."

"I'll have time tonight. I'd just rather practice something hands-on that would benefit from having another person around."

"Alright," said Seto after considering the proposition a moment. "We'll practice with the clocks if you promise not to become a nervous wreck under the time constraints. Otherwise, it's a waste of a lesson doing this all over again."

"I can try," said Ryou. He didn't like to say no or that he couldn't. Even if he failed, he could always at least have said he'd try.

"You always do," said Seto in a voice that was clearly making fun of him. Ryou didn't mind it. It meant Seto was letting Ryou have what Ryou wanted. It meant Ryou wasn't going to be forced to read for four hours in this tiny, stifling room without escape or reprieve. Ryou would accept that small victory, even if it came with a few sarcastic remarks sprinkled on top.

A few minutes minutes later, Seto had a chess clock out and on the side of the board between him and Ryou. Seto set the time limit for three minutes, and they flipped a coin to determine who would start on which color. Ryou got white, and immediately the match began. After mechanically opening with his king-pawn, Ryou reached out and gingerly (far too gingerly) pressed down on the button on his side of the clock.

"Speed counts, move faster," said Seto with a sigh that told Ryou Seto was certain that today was going to be more of the same as ever with the damn clock. He was really just humoring Ryou by taking the clock out in the first place. Seto liked to think minor concessions like this made him a nice teacher, like he was both reasonable as well as demanding. Maybe a touch of lenience was the path to becoming the kind of teacher Ryou would actually learn from and work to please. He could only hope. Like Ryou, he could only try.

The next time Ryou finished a turn, he reached out for the button only a little faster, pausing noticeably to allow for a gentle tap.

"Just hit it, Bakura," said Seto. "It won't explode. Even if we play the first twenty lines of this opening perfectly, you'll never get to the middlegame if you can't physically move."

"But…I just know how expensive it is. I really don't want to break it."

"I appreciate your concern for the preservation of our chess class's supplies, but as long as you don't smash it with your fist like the goddamn Hulk, it'll be alright."

On Ryou's third turn, nothing had changed.

"Bakura, if you don't move and hit the damn clock after your turn, I will throw it into your face and make you pay for the replacement when it inevitably shatters against the thickness of your skull."

Now under duress, Ryou got a little faster, but still not fast enough. He started knocking pieces over instead. Seto was forced to accept that perhaps the blitz simply wasn't Ryou's game. Perhaps Ryou'd always have that weak spot, and there was nothing Seto could do to fix it. That would require a complete conditioning of Ryou into a whole other person, and the weeks they had left weren't nearly enough time for something so drastic. The blitz was mostly drama and fun, though, and nothing Seto was convinced Ryou truly needed to be good at. It was better for Ryou to focus on simply winning in an hour instead of three minutes.

"I told you this would be a waste of time," said Seto once the time had run out. "Even when you hit the clock fast enough, you start blundering and you get into these terrible positions." Seto pointed down to the case in point, Ryou's currently disastrous position on the board.

"But don't you think it's something I need to practice to get better at?" asked Ryou thoughtfully. "I won't improve overnight, and I need someone to work with. When I study openings, we can review them together with something like this. Maybe longer than three minutes, though, so I can work on moving quickly as well as practicing developing different ways?"

"You could do this with a computer," said Seto tiredly.

"A computer won't see and tell me that I made an illogical move when I try something different from normal," said Ryou hopefully. "You would be able to advise me while we play."

Seto furrowed his brow and thought. "You realize you'd have to compete against me, right?" he asked to check if Ryou understood the ramifications of this. "You realize you will certainly lose?"

"Yes, but at the same time, you're sort of the most intimidating opponent there is," said Ryou, oddly cool with this fact, or at least doing a great job of pretending to be. "I can only get stronger."

Seto wavered before deciding to agree or not. One of the things Seto had tried hardest to protect Ryou from while training him was Seto himself. He made a point to have Ryou compete against his classmates and strangers in tournaments in order to avoid having to truly play against Ryou outside of mock review matches dedicated to testing Ryou's recall and comprehension of specific concepts. That Ryou would ask to actually play against Seto, especially with a possible time restriction that would virtually guarantee Ryou'd lose, baffled Seto.

As he stood now, Ryou was at a decently high level compared to his peers. Seto hadn't been lying about that. Seto acted uncomfortable when telling Ryou that Ryou played well because, in Seto's opinion, this was something obvious that Ryou had gained from hard work. He thought it sounded ridiculous to restate something so unmistakable, as though Ryou needed to be reminded. Obviously, Ryou was still nowhere near strong enough to win easily against Seto, but people at Ryou's level could only beat grandmasters when a game had some psychological element woven into it, or if there was a physical toll that the better player wasn't well enough to overcome due to illness or exhaustion. On a purely even playing field, with just the wits and skill of the players determining the outcome, those on Ryou's level could only dream of victory.

"Holding back isn't my specialty," said Seto, once more trying to deter Ryou. "Temporarily, I can try, but eventually I always start trying to win. You'll do badly against me, and it will dishearten you. I'm not sure I want to run that risk."

"But memorizing all the possible moves in the world won't do me any good if I never practice using them in matches," countered Ryou. "I'll just forget them like normal. I need to use what I learn for it to stick in my head."

"You practice with the chess team twice a week," Seto reminded him. "They're closer to your level that I would be."

"But they don't even try when they play against me anymore," said Ryou, ashamed of this because it was a consequence of how much the team had distanced itself from him. "I got better too fast. They've given up. And anyway they all play more or less the same five openings over and over without much deviation, so I never have the chance to try anything new. Often they go for symmetrical play, because they are convinced all my moves are better than theirs. They just copy me until it's impossible."

"Ch' typical," said Seto with a sneer and a shake of his head. He expected this kind of behavior form Jounouchi Katsuya's chess team, the team he'd stolen from Seto. "Anyway, that sort of thing is why you attend tournaments."

"We haven't been to a tournament in weeks."

"Then just ask, and I'll sign you up for one this weekend."

"But tournaments aren't all that helpful, either," said Ryou. He was a little surprised himself with how many annoying counterarguments he apparently had for Seto. He'd never tried so hard to convince anyone of anything so incessantly in his entire life. It felt like arguing. He told himself it was negotiation. "It's hard to remember what to play when I'm competing because I have no, like, real combat experience or whatever to guide me. It will take me forever to learn that if I'm only facing 'real' competition once a week at most."

Seto grew agitated, as he also wasn't used to Ryou debating these kinds of things with him. Was this the strangely subtle way Ryou Bakura was accustomed to asserting himself? What the hell did Ryou want? What the hell could he possibly be looking for? Were they arguing right now? Seto wasn't completely sure, because people tended to raise their voices when they argued with him, and Ryou was still talking normally.

"How," asked Seto, trying to keep his voice level, "is me beating you every day under a time constraint going to help with anything?"

"Because," said Ryou, his voice still so unnervingly conversational, "studying and playing are very different. Right now, with all the downtime in between the instances where I'm actually playing chess, starting a new match almost feels like I'm starting over. I'm aware that I'm improving slowly, but I don't feel like I've got much better. I feel like I'm just stumbling into my wins ungracefully, like a lucky idiot."

Seto nodded and remained silent, still trying to feel out the situation. Was Ryou suggesting an altered approach to training, or was Ryou rebelling against him? It was an infuriatingly slow burn if Ryou's true intention was to vindictively antagonize Seto for no reason. Or…perhaps Ryou was so unaccustomed to speaking his mind to Seto that he felt he needed to give detailed, aggravatingly long explanations as preludes to justify every contradictory idea or opinion he might have?

"For instance," Ryou continued. "In a tournament, when I do win, I get this impression that it's just because the opponent doesn't know the opening I'm using as well as I do, so I can get the initiative quickly, and then I'm in a better position to win later on. When that happens, it seems like little more than luck, because what if I randomly, unluckily choose to play something that my opponent knows extremely well? If they know how to respond perfectly, then I start to lose, because I don't have a strong feel for what I'm doing when I'm not controlling the match."

"So…losing more will help you with this?" asked Seto. No matter how long a speech Ryou gave, he still couldn't get over a person's voluntary desire to lose almost routinely if Seto would be only so kind as to let them.

"Not losing per se, but having someone I know will respond intelligently and force me to think of the game I'm playing and not just the moves I've memorized."

"So you're saying you think I'm forcing you to memorize too much now?" asked Seto. He leaned forward in his seat and squeezed the bridge of his nose tiredly, trying to make sense of all this. "Okay, now tell me clearly what exactly it is that you want instead of trying to paint a giant picture for me. If I ask for an explanation, then explain. Don't explain first and then ask for stuff. People stop listening to you when you do that kind of thing, or they get confused and can't answer you."

"Oh," said Ryou, having never thought of this. He'd always assumed he had to win people over before asking them for anything. "I want to be able to talk to someone while I'm playing, someone who can advise me in the moment," he said, trying to keep it simple. "Ryuuji tried this with me, and I think it was helpful, but Ryuuji doesn't have the time. You and I see each other almost every day, so it would be more feasible to play against you, since we're already both here, right?"

"…Was this Ryuuji's idea?" asked Seto with an exasperated sigh.

"Not really."

"Not really?"

"His idea was for me to ask you to change our lessons. My idea was to play against him to study."

"And how was it, studying with Ryuuji?" asked Seto with morbid curiosity. "I assume he goes easy on you."

"He's worse than you are at going easy on people. He's never taught chess to anyone, and he's never studied it formally. He can use lots of different tactics and analyze his positions well, but he doesn't memorize the proper terms and things. He lacks detailed knowledge."

Ryou, of course, was hoping to flatter Seto a little by telling him that. While Ryuuji could often out play Seto when he wished, Ryuuji's knowledge of the game was incomplete. Seto was all about the "right" way of doing things, of mastering material without leaving many gaps in one's knowledge. Seto had to know absolutely everything about a topic that interested him, whereas Ryuuji was comfortable with just playing well. Chess wasn't something Ryuuji would ever choose to practice over other activities, and this made Seto the [consistently] stronger player between them. Even if Ryuuji was good at winning, he'd never be able to compete with Seto's absolute dedication and drive.

Seto sneered again then, a smug, self-satisfied expression. Ryou had apparently caught on to everything Seto despised about Ryuuji as a chess player, and Seto appreciated what sounded like Ryou taking his side on the matter. Ryou was right; Ryuuji was not the best to play to improve. He was terrible in much the same way Yuugi was, except Yuugi actually did possess a strong grasp of theory and had all the "proper" knowledge of the game. Both Ryuuji and Yuugi were only good at playing for themselves, not of imparting that knowledge onto others. In this regard, Seto was better, since Seto had been forced to take chess as an academic subject under Gozaburo. Also, ever since he'd started practicing before Gozaburo adopted him, Seto'd always had Mokuba to teach in order to have someone to play against.

"I'll play against you," said Seto at last. "But not a complete match if I can help it, since we know who will win anyway. We'll keep the time restrictions around five to ten minutes, so you'll have to know your opening lines perfectly if you want to even reach the middlegame before timing out."

"Good," said Ryou, visibly surprised with how calmly everything was working out. "Thanks for listening," he added, awkward as all hell. Seto glared at him.

"When did you get it through your head that I wouldn't listen?" asked Seto. His voice finally rose in some of the anger Ryou had expected Seto to express earlier. "I'm curious just what the hell you think of me if you have that opinion."

"Um…you're kind of scary," said Ryou, defaulting to honesty. Perhaps it was too honest, though. "Or well, I guess the better word might be intimidating. You, uh, intimidate people."

"Obviously I do," said Seto. This was not news to him. "I don't see why that means you can't ask for things. Do you really think I'm just going to yell at you and ignore you?"

"You're kind of starting to yell now," Ryou pointed out timidly.

Seto was about to shout something back about how silence and hiding things was worse than yelling, but it then dawned on him that perhaps Ryou had a point. But if forced compliments weren't working to round out Seto's jaggedly sharp edges, then what the hell would? He'd probably have to try to be genuinely nice instead of faking it, and Seto was not a proponent of genuine niceness. Treating people well when they hadn't fucking deserved it made him no better than someone weak and fearfully precautious like Ryou.

It occurred to Seto at that very same instant that if Ryou hadn't earned Seto's own, grudging yet genuine niceness (or Seto's vague approximate to whatever passed for niceness with him), then just what criteria was Seto judging people on? It was one thing to say people had to fight to earn even a drop of his extremely limited stocks of benevolence, but it was another matter entirely to actually award it to them once they'd proven themselves. Seto was much, much better at finding fault than he was at appreciating something done well.

"Here's an idea," said Seto after a few moments of working out complicated long division problems in his head to ease himself into a less abrasive state. It was a trick he'd learned when he was fifteen so as not to loose his cool in board meetings and be labeled a petulant child by people who wanted nothing more than to never, ever take him seriously. He didn't normally utilize such tricks when dealing with his classmates, because he honestly didn't give a shit what they thought about him. They weren't sitting in his boardroom, helping to decide the future of his billion-dollar company with him. They were just children.

"Yes?" asked Ryou. He'd waited patiently for Seto to come around while, unbeknownst to Ryou, Seto had been doing mental math. Ryou'd wait forever if it guaranteed that Seto wasn't about to get mad at him.

"How about you bring me what you want to work on," said Seto, pushing the chessman off the board to clear it as he spoke. "We only have a few weeks until you and the team make your debut, so we need to work on fine tuning what you already know. Also, you can be proactive. You'll have to reflect on your own play and decided what you would like to do, so then it's less work for me."

"You don't mind not controlling every single thing?"

Ryou certainly got to the point with the hard questions. Seto didn't deign to answer it.

"Now is no longer the time for that. You're the one who has to compete in three weeks, not me. You should have an idea now what you need to improve."

"So I guess we're working together, then?"

"Having greater agency in what you study will make you feel more in control, instead of someone simply telling you what to do all the time," said Seto, overlooking the fact that both of Ryou's questions had been ones that required merely a yes or a no. "You've progressed to the point where you can do these things yourself. That's what you want, right? To be more involved in planning what we do?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't expecting you do just jump right into it..." said Ryou with a slight, embarrassed laugh. Like he didn't remember now how annoyingly persistent he'd been. "I guess then tomorrow I'll bring you a list of what I think I need to work on, and we'll compare notes?"

"Also prepare to play against me," said Seto. "That's still happening."

Ryou shot a shy, nervous smile Seto's direction, quietly pleased with Seto taking his suggestion. It hadn't come totally without a price. Ryou wasn't sure about having so much responsibility in regards to his chess learning. Three weeks seemed like enough time to polish his best openings, work on tactical puzzles, and rehash endgames. These days, Ryou rarely saw something of a "true" endgame with the queens exchanged and most pieces wiped off the board, and for that reason he struggled terribly when it happened from lack of practice.

Ryou supposed then that Seto was right. Ryou did have some of an idea of what he knew he needed to work on. Maybe agency or whatever was what Ryou needed. All Ryou really knew was that he was tired of reading and filling out worksheet packets. He was hoping playing the game would be more fun, even if the only opponent of value he had access to was Seto himself, and Seto would never let him win. If Ryou met another roadblock in his effort to increase his enjoyment of chess, then Ryou was going to have to accept that fact that he would never, ever like the game again.

###### Notes:

[1] Blah blah blah chess chess chess. I refuse to refer to the queen as a "she", sorry. It is a piece of wood. Basically the opponent's queen was blocked by its own king and couldn't attack or defend with the king in the way.  
[2] So, one way to force your opponent to make a certain move is to check the king, because then the opponent must respond by getting out of check. Here, Ryou checked the enemy king with his bishop, and the smart response would've been to put the enemy queen between Ryou's bishop and the enemy king, instead of moving the enemy king in front of the enemy queen. When Ryou had his bishop retreat, the enemy king was able to go back to the square it was on before Ryou had put it into check and forced a response, thus freeing the enemy queen.


	20. Exit Strategy

It might've been the first time Ryou remembered looking forward to chess matches as something he wanted to play instead of an obligation he must comply to. The packets of endless papers were now relegated to researching concepts he was hazy on, and he hadn't done a complete worksheet in over a week. Instead, Ryou focused on playing the game itself and applying his ideas and strategies against Seto in matches Ryou never came close to winning, but which were nevertheless fun and fruitful because he was engaged in their development. Ryou preferred taking this more dynamic roll. It allowed him to act as a practitioner of the sport, rather than as a student who only used his brain as an endless fact depository to dump knowledge into. Ryou even openly admitted to Seto directly that this altered level of interaction between them was more pleasing than committing tactical patterns and classic matches to memory by rote study alone, although Seto still sent Ryou home with readings aplenty to keep him sharp.

Seto was still sour over his inability to understand what motivated Ryou to play with enthusiasm when they both knew Ryou wasn't ever going to win. According to Ryou, Ryou liked that he could ask, if he was unsure, why Seto had responded to a sequence of moves a certain way, to see what Seto was thinking as he played. Seto agreed that this was a natural enough curiosity for a chess player to have, because everyone always wanted to know what grandmasters were thinking during matches. Sometimes Seto was patient enough to stop counting down the time when whatever explanation Ryou'd asked for required some detail. Ryou listened intently, occasionally took notes, and tried to learn enough to keep his further questions both intelligent and straightforward. Seto didn't really mind explaining things to Ryou, especially when Ryou was so respectfully studious about it, but Seto still wasn't totally sure if it was really going to help Ryou as much as Ryou seemed to believe it would.

After the first few days, Seto had asked Mokuba why someone would play without caring to win, explaining to him Ryou's seemingly masochistic enjoyment of trying to make a match with Seto last longer than twenty-five moves. Mokuba had shrugged and suggested winning wasn't the goal. Like Seto had said, Ryou was more interested in getting a game to last longer the twenty-five or thirty moves. Perhaps that was enough to entertain Ryou. Perhaps that was just enough of a challenge for Ryou to keep things interesting.

Though it likely stemmed from his own immense selfishness, Seto wasn't always totally comfortable with the lack of studying and copious written work. What he and Ryou were doing barely merited the title of "lessons" with such a lack of any rigorous, defined curriculum in place. Seto itched to take back the reins, to throw Ryou into an intensive program that would drive Ryou to become something very close to omniscient in his knowledge of chess. Mokuba had needed to remind Seto that knowing all the facts about something didn't really prepare you for everything if you had no practical experience to back the knowledge up. It was especially useless if you had all the knowledge in the world contained in your head and zero motivation to use it, ever. As long as Ryou had something to like about chess, Ryou would use what Seto had taught him and even seek out ways to improve upon what he knew.

"Anyone who wants to get better is always looking for someone to play against. That's the hardest part," said Mokuba, looking over the record of the day's matches that Seto had demanded he read. "I think it's cool he's trying out flanked openings. How would you have know he was interested in that if he didn't play against you?" [1]

"He's never used them in tournaments," said Seto, reflecting on what matches of Ryou's he could remember. "As far as theory goes, I've been keeping him focused on strong, classic centers, making sure he has the basic principles down and has a working knowledge of tactics and how to analyze his positions logically." He recited this like a checklist, as though it could be considered common knowledge and not something that had taken Ryou months to learn. "That seems to keep him afloat enough. He's never show a particularly deep interest in chess, so I've been guiding him more towards material that's likely to keep him comfortably ahead of his peers. I didn't think he'd try for more advanced, sophisticated strategies on his own."

"I don't think he really cares how 'sophisticated' his play gets," said Mokuba, leafing through more score sheets as he spoke. "I think he just likes it because it's relatively new for him. Something to learn rather than to memorize. It's safer to play those openings against you than in a tournament, where a mistake would really cost him."

"He literally told me, to my face, that he didn't want to be good at chess, though," said Seto. He stood up dramatically and went to the window to watch the falling rain with a pensive expression. "So, why is he getting better now? Nothing's changed."

"Pfft, that doesn't mean he can't be good at chess in spite of himself," said Mokuba. He placed the folio of documents down on the seat next to him and turned to look over at his brother who stood across the office. Mokuba hadn't actually come here to talk about chess. He'd come to get a permission slip signed so he could go to the museum on Friday with his class. Seto had already been mulling over his written record of Ryou's matches when Mokuba had walked in, frowning down at them with indignation and trying to figure it all out as if it were a puzzle with some deeper meaning that could be deciphered by examining the full history of every recorded chess move Ryou had ever made. Once Mokuba had unsuspectingly come into Seto's mulling radius, Mokuba hadn't stood a chance of resisting being sucked into an analysis of the situation.

"What he meant," said Mokuba, "was probably that he didn't really want to be the best chess player in your school, or to base his reputation off of playing chess well. He might still like chess okay. He just doesn't personally _care_ all that much about it."

"But it doesn't make sense." asked Seto. "Until now, I was sure he was just doing the bare minimum so I'd pay for his grades. Why does he suddenly try so hard? I've given him no incentive, so, why is he doing extra work?"

"Why not?" said Mokuba. "He's trapped in a room with you for hours upon hours every week. He's gotta find some way to enjoy himself."

"Losing is not fun," said Seto pointedly.

"And winning is not everything," said Mokuba.

Seto narrowed his eyes at this sudden cheek coming from his little brother, but didn't break away from his incredible brooding stance as he looked over the rain drenched city rooftops beyond the windowpane. Mokuba kicked back smugly in his armchair and took out his phone. There was no telling how long Seto was prepared to maintain his shroud of quiet drama, and Mokuba had texts to compose. The permission slip lay on the desk, neglected, and Mokuba wouldn't be able to leave until Seto remembered that he was supposed to be signing it for Mokuba.

"When your lessons with Ryou end, you should use the time to teach me to turn playing cards into projectile weapons," said Mokuba as he scrolled through his phone. "There's this video online of you throwing your business card at a paparazzo in a restaurant and knocking his camera right out of his hand and into a bowl of soup. People have started asking me if I can do that, too, and I can't give them excuses forever."

"When what?" asked Seto, stirring at last from the confounding thoughts that consumed him.

"When you stop teaching Ryou chess."

"Oh."

If Mokuba was one thing Seto rarely desired him to be, it was annoying perceptive to the inner workings his older brother's mind. Considering their familial circumstances, this made sense, and Seto was more or less powerless to change it. Mokuba was Seto's most trusted, reliable source of interpersonal human interaction most days, and it was starting to put Seto at a disadvantage in their relationship. Mokuba was impressionable and young, which meant he automatically absorbed the messages filtered in from the world around him like an indiscriminate sponge. At this point, he perhaps knew Seto better than Seto truly knew himself, and he was not about to overlook the fact that Seto was apparently not keeping in mind that eventually, possibly even soon, Seto'd be done with Ryou, and that none of what Seto was complaining now about was going to matter for very long.

"Or do you still want Ryou to go for a regional title?" asked Mokuba. "Maybe then you'll have to coach him for a lot longer, actually. Waiting for you guys to graduate will take forever…. You should teach me to throw cards on weekends, then, since you guys don't go to such far away tournaments anymore."

"It's plausible he could compete more, if the enthusiasm he shows now also translates into him playing better in tournaments," said Seto thoughtfully. "I told him I wanted him to win a championship originally, but then he started doing so poorly. I put it off."

"You're telling me he's so terrible at chess that you actually lowered your standard?" asked Mokuba, his mouth partly agape. "Does he know you've lowered your standard? Does he realize what the hell he's done?"

"He's not terrible, but like you said, in competition he's useless. Maybe I'll just make him be vice president of the club. There hasn't been a fixed one since that little shit Hiroshi got kicked out."

"Maybe?"

"I'm not sure what I'll do with him."

"You're…not sure? Wasn't your plan to make him the best junior chess player in the district? Or the region? Or our country? How do you not know anymore, Seto?"

"Well, like you said," repeated Seto. Apparently Mokuba had already said a lot and didn't even realize it, or Seto's brooding mind had expounded on Mokuba's statements and brought them to their furthest, most probing conclusions. With all these words put into his mouth, Mokuba had become a way more insightful twelve-year-old than he'd even known or intended. "Winning is more complicated than being simply good at chess. Bakura is not a winner. I think he'll win his section in the junior tournament at the end of the month, but I'm not sure he can sustain a winning streak. His impulse to lose is too strong."

"I'm pretty sure he isn't trying to lose," said Mokuba. "No-one tries to lose."

"No, he loses way too much. He has to be trying."

"You win too much. You don't have a good perspective."

"Then what the hell is he doing?"

"I dunno. Whatever he wants, I guess," said Mokuba with a shrug. He shifted his attention back to his phone as a new message chimed its arrival.

"He should be doing what _I want_ ," said Seto bitterly. "And I want him to win. I want him to want to win, and he ought to if he knows what's good for him."

Far across the city, beyond the rain drenched vista Seto looked out on, Ryou was currently not winning. He and his friends were helping Honda decorate chocolates with stencils for Honda's little nephew's birthday party at school. The results were exceptionally hideous, but Jounouchi said it was the taste of the chocolate that mattered, not the appearance. Anzu wasn't in agreement, and argued that they should melt everything down and start again from scratch. Honda, surveying the extent of the mess that already dominated every square inch of counter space in his parent's small kitchen, was inclined to agree with Jounouchi. Unlike Anzu, Honda was going to be one stuck cleaning everything up later.

While Jounouchi and Anzu bickered, Ryou devoted himself once more, quietly, to the task with the concentration and solemnity of a surgeon in the operating theater. Yuugi watched him curiously. Very carefully, so as not to disturb the stencil, Ryou spread the colored white chocolate in [what he took to be] a properly thin layer on top. He counted to three, and he and Yuugi both held their breaths. When he lifted the stencil afterwards, he winced and let out a defeated sigh. Yuugi sat back, shooting Ryou apologetic smile and shaking his head softly. The stencil had slipped at the last minute, as it had ten different times already, and the design had been smeared to the point of being unreadable. Timidly, Ryou placed the chocolate on the tray with the its likewise mutilated brethren, and silently gave up on the task.

"Why are you and your friends eating so much damn chocolate all of the sudden? Did you all get together over the weekend and rob the storeroom of a candy shop?" asked Ryuuji two days later when Ryou, for the third time that day, procured chocolate from his bag when it was time for a snack. Honda's mother, whose idea the entire decorating operation had been, had rejected the chocolates once she saw them, and it had been up to Honda and his friends to eat them so they wouldn't go to waste. Ryuuji now looked down at the small gift box filled with so many lopsided, half melted, and smeared imprinted chocolates with a judgmental expression. "Or, perhaps you guys raided the candy shop's trash."

Ryuuji snatched the box from Ryou and held out the hideous chocolates for Seto to have a look, since Seto was sitting so lonely and closed off, reading a book in the corner of the classroom by himself. Seto barely glanced over and said nothing. He turned the page of his book and continued to read.

Ryuuji shot a questioning glance at Ryou, as if Ryou might illuminate Ryuuji as to what Seto's problem could be. Ryou didn't know what the problem was. Seto was getting weird, he said to Ryuuji later. Ryuuji joked that the more Ryou spent time with Seto, the more it seemed that all Seto ever got was progressively weirder and weirder. Ryou said that he assumed this new iteration of weirdness was Seto's unique way of expressing nervousness about the upcoming tournament. Some days Seto was normal, other days Seto to was full of impatient energy, as though he wanted everything to be over with already. Ryou didn't take it personally. Much. Again, Ryou thought nerves were a good explanation for such shifts in mood.

"Maybe Kaiba''s upset you'll dominated the tournament, ride the wave of surging self-confidence into an illustrious chess career, and then he'll never seen you again, except your face on the TV as you win another resounding victory in some world championship or other," said Ryuuji with a dreamy sigh. Ryou shook his head in a long-suffering manner and said he didn't think that was the case. For one, Seto wasn't even convinced Ryou was going to win at all, so why would Seto be worried Ryou might actually dominate the competition _too well?_

"Well, whatever," said Ryuuji tiredly once his terrific dream of the future had faded away. "What do you even plan to do once you're done with Kaiba's chess lessons, anyway? Like, for real. Are you going to keep playing some, or are you planning to immediately go into chessic detox and never lay your hands on a chessboard again?"

"Once what?" asked Ryou, startled at the realization.

"Once your lessons with Kaiba are over."

"Oh, yeah."

Ryuuji's expression became inquisitive, suspicious. "Wait," he said slowly. "Have you seriously not thought about life after chess class?"

"Well, yes and no," said Ryou, leaning more towards the no. "I know the chess classes won't last forever, and sometimes I even look forward to the end, but I haven't considered what I'll do. I, uh, don't even know, really."

"When are your lessons supposed to end?"

"I don't know."

"There's no determined timespan? Not cutoff point?"

"No."

"So what you're saying is, you could easily be taking lessons from Kaiba _until you die_?" asked Ryuuji. He seemed a little shocked Ryou had potentially agreed to such a thing. It was no better than if Ryou had sold his soul to Seto Kaiba in accepting such an open-ended arrangement with him.

"He's pays my grades, so no, I won't," said Ryou. "I'm hoping I'll graduate well before I die."

Ryuuji continued to shake his head in disbelief. "That's so sloppy," he said, amazed. "That's such bad planning. You guys didn't pick an end point. So, basically, this could go on forever, as long as you need shit Kaiba can pay for."

"It won't," said Ryou, worriedly now as Ryuuji's doubtful head shaking and tsk-tsking got to him. "It _can't_."

"It could. Kaiba pretty much owns you, Ryou."

"No, he's not unreasonable. He'll end our agreement in a sensible and respectful manner." Even as Ryou said this, he had his own reservations about how truly respectful Seto could be about ending anything he might not want to, for whatever reason. "He won't make me study chess forever. That would be crazy, right?"

"I can't tell," said Ryuuji with a shrug. "Like you say, the guy just gets weirder and weirder. Who knows?"

Ryou hated to admit that Ryuuji maybe had a point. Seto Kaiba certainly strived to constantly redefine weird these days. It seemed more and more the one thing no-one could ever truly beat Seto at.

At the Kaiba Manor, Mokuba spied into his brother's private office and noticed Seto quietly reading the set of matches he'd brought along home with him the evening before. Seto paused a few times to leave a quick annotation, erase it, write something else, and then erase that, too. Quietly, so as not to disturb, Mokuba back away from the door and continued down the hall to his room. He wondered what Seto was so worked up about. Deep down, he suspected it wasn't just nerves for the upcoming tournament. Seto had said that he was already certain Ryou would win his section.

"When does this fucking end?" Mokuba heard Seto ask himself angrily. There was the fluttering sound of papers being swept off a desk in agitation and the musical tone of a computer that had been turned on and was booting up. A member of housekeeping stepped into the room and asked if she ought to tidy the mess. Seto told her to leave it and the room, and to shut the door behind her.

###### Notes:

[1] Sooooo, I'm finding it really hard to write about "chess" without writing about chess…. Don't worry what exactly a flanked opening is or why it matters. Just accept that Seto is getting to know Ryou better and possibly respect him as a student/person?


	21. Caught in a Moment

The tournament hall was crowded with parents and teachers, classmates and total strangers, reporters and rival schools, all on the edge of their seats to see if Domino High's game reputation would be redeemed at long last. Ryou's teammates expressed some trepidation over the attention that was being directed towards them, but Jounouchi assured them they would make a good showing. They had Ryou, right? Despite how much flak he'd forced Ryou to take when Ryou'd agreed to study with Seto, he was now claiming him as an advantage; the ace up his team's sleeve that every single bystander and competitor knew was there.

For Ryou, despite knowing he was the person of highest interest on his team, the tournament seemed hardly different from others he'd played before. Perhaps he recognized (and was recognized by) many of the faces watching in the crowd, and perhaps he knew he would find his own name in the registration and not one that Seto's people had invented for him to compete with. Besides such small details, however, it was a tournament like any other. The tournament pairings were by individual instead of by team, so Ryou wasn't actually working directly with his teammates to win, but rather by himself as he had countless times already with Seto in other cities.

Briefly, Ryou entertained the idea that his calm self-assuredness was something akin to what Seto or Yuugi felt when they prepared to compete on the public stage. Seto couldn't even be guaranteed a win if he was playing against Yuugi, and yet he seemed to step forward with plenty of confidence in his ability. Ryou's confidence hadn't quite reached Seto Kaiba heights yet, but he did feel fully resolved and dedicated to the task before him. It was as if a set of blinders had been strapped to the side of his head, and the only way to go now was forward. No reason remained to panic. He was here, and there was no going back.

Truthfully, if Ryou had to describe his primary emotion, it was pure exhaustion. He'd had more pep-talks and motivational speeches recited to him in the past forty-eight hours than he'd heard in his entire life thrice over. By now they'd all blurred together in his head into a hazy, suffocating fog of overwhelming support. The winner for the most awkward and weird of them all, of course, had been Seto, hands all the way down.

First, Seto'd chosen a bizarre time, after 10pm, as if encouraging his chess pupil for the next day's tournament had been an afterthought on his way home from work. Ryou had been sitting at home in pyjamas, analyzing past moves on a chessboard in his game room. He'd taken time off from practicing with Seto that day in order to avoid total overexertion of his chessic brain. He was supposed to have gone on a relaxing, chess-free trip to see family an hour and a half away in a neighborhood on the other side of the city. At the last minute, however, something had come up with his father's work and forced him to cancel. This had left Ryou by himself at home, and Ryou, facing a shortage of pastimes now that chess had consumed his life, automatically decided to study, though he technically wasn't supposed to. Doing anything but studying right then would've felt wrong, like he was wasting time.

Seto hadn't complained that Ryou was studying when he was supposed to have been taking a break. He had too much respect for people whose work was also their hobby, because he felt that he could relate to it. In fact, he had to struggle to restrain himself from complying with the sudden urge to sweep in and start playing his typical role of the onerous examiner across from Ryou at the table. If a few questions of a quizzing nature escaped him regardless in the few minutes he visited, it only proved testament to the strength of this overwhelming desire to adopt his proper place in he and Ryou's natural alignment. The immensity of this desire had overloaded his total capacity for self-restraint, and thus, a few chess questions still leaked out of him in the obligatory moment of awkward small talk after greeting Ryou at the apartment door.

The second highly weird thing Seto accomplished with masterful skill that evening was an attempt at companionable physical contact with Ryou, which under normal circumstances Seto rarely, if ever, tried. He put a hand on Ryou's shoulder, offered a reassuring squeeze, and then took far too long to remove it. He proceeded instead to recite for Ryou all the same trite, supportive enunciations shared by everyone else before him, only in many, many more stilted and unnatural words, which Ryou felt Seto had probably researched and committed to memory before he'd arrived.

It was hard to tell if Seto's heart was in the act, but Ryou optimistically chose to believe it was, because at least Seto had made the attempt. He was awkward as all hell, but he did what he believed had to be done, and Ryou appreciated the gesture. He just wished it didn't have to take nearly ten whole minutes. The hand Seto'd forgot to removed or even relax slightly on Ryou's shoulder had grown uncomfortably heavy and warm. Ryou felt feather light on his left side once Seto finally let him go.

Seto's personal spin on the prosaic expression "I believe in you" was what he considered to be the virtually indistinguishable expression of "I trust you won't disappoint me". Immediately after conveying this sentiment with the heaviest emotion he could muster towards something that wasn't a card game against the pharaoh Atem, he locked eyes with Ryou in a way that both participants immediately, and rather unexpectedly, found to be mutually inescapable.

Seto's hand, being of its own mind apparently, had mysteriously managed to rest itself back on Ryou's shoulder. Perhaps it had done so with the intention of emphasizing Seto's last encouraging statement, but now it was locking them together in something that had all the pretense of preluding a full embrace. Seto was extremely against following this instinctual compulsion through, but still, its sudden appearance gave him pause. It was in the few seconds of hesitation that followed that he and Ryou looked even deeper into each other's eyes and unexpectedly shared something of a _moment_ between them. 

Luckily, Ryou was plenty practiced in diffusing awkward situations, though his methods wanted for delicacy. He stepped back abruptly, out of reach, and cleared his throat, looking around as if he'd lost track of time and maybe had somewhere else to be.

Somewhere else to be in pyjamas, supposedly.

Seto wasted no time in getting the hell out of Ryou's apartment after this. Defying belief, he became exponentially even more awkward, as though he were hesitating, tottering on the verge of saying something and only just holding himself back. Instead, Seto anticlimactically asked Ryou where he'd placed his briefcase upon entering the apartment, only to look down and realize it had never left his hand. Seto all but fled at a full sprint after this embarrassing oversight, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "have a good luck" before sweeping out the door with in a hasty violence of movement and a flutter of his overly long and fashionable coat.

Ryou had seen nothing of Seto since. They were not to be observed in each other's company before the tournament, in order to further drive home their illusion of professional distance. Ryou was supposed to be good at chess on his own. He was supposed to have mastered all that Seto could teach him at his level. The effect of Seto's tutelage was supposed to be permanent and undisputable, like he'd transformed Ryou into a chess ace by rewiring the chessic pathways of his brain into the ideal chess logic superhighway. With all that considered, Ryou had no choice but to win.

Winning was indeed what Ryou was setting out to do to the utmost best of his ability. Not totally helpless or without a few clever turns of his own, Ryou had devised a unique strategy, unknown to Seto, to ensure he played his matches with the proper impassible distance required to win. The strategy called for something Ryou possessed in abundance, and yet had rarely had fully available to him in his previous tournaments with Seto: his own hair.

That Ryou was well overdue for a trim was obvious. His friend Honda had pointed it out to him a few days before while he, Jounouchi and Yuugi had been over at Ryou's apartment to hang out and speculate about the competition the players might have to look out for during the upcoming tournament. Ryou had forgotten his hair in the frenzy of the weeks leading up to the tournament, carelessly neglecting it and keeping the bulk of the shorter layers back with headbands whenever it got in his way while he studied. He'd suspected his style was probably quite bad and overgrown a mere echo of its typical, deliberate shape, but he'd no notion of just how out of hand things were until he took it down to watch TV with his friends.

It turned out that when Ryou's hair was fully down, it easily shielded the top section of his vision, effectively robbing half the peripheral horizon from him when he directed his eyes downwards. Jounouchi, who had been siting across from him at the table, had been getting annoyed when Ryou didn't look up whenever he gestured for Ryou's attention, and Honda had joked that perhaps it was because Ryou's bangs were currently so thick that Ryou couldn't even see the person in front of him. The thing was, Honda was entirely correct, because this was indeed what had happened.

The genius (or at least Ryou considered it to be, though no-one in Ryou's entire life had ever accused him of ever once recognizing real genius) decision to block his opponent's face from view with his own hair had been Ryou's very own idea, inspired by Honda's observation. It hadn't been instantaneous, though. The plan took a full day to truly materialize, only dawning on Ryou later while he was trying to work out strategies with Yuugi that would help Ryou avoid being affected by younger opponents' blatant disregard for the wise suggestion that they keep their heart-tugging human emotions from getting too wrapped up in the outcome of a junior tournament chess match.

Predictably, Yuugi had struggled tremendously with giving workable advice, as he primarily dealt with sore losers and insecure players by coaching them through those emotions mid-match, often resolving the entire issue by the last turn and walking away with both an amazing victory and a great new friend. Ryou, meanwhile, wasn't about to start dishing out life advice to complete strangers. For one, you simply didn't have an opportunity to talk that much in chess matches, what with frequent time limits and the immense concentration demanded from both sides. 

For two, despite his emotionally scarring brush with the darkest elements of the supernatural only a year before, Ryou remained something of a relatively normal teenager, and hadn't lived his short, decade and a few years worth of life quite as deeply as Yuugi seemed to have done. If an opponent were to suddenly open up to Ryou during a match with a story about how they needed to become the greatest chess player in Domino history in order to cease languishing in the shadows of their chess champion older sibling who their parents supposedly loved more, Ryou honestly would've had no idea what to even say to that. In fact, he probably would've ceded the match soon after just to escape the uncomfortable situation and not have to deal with the other person any longer. He certainly wasn't about to teach a lesson about the futility of envy and how important it was to be your own person instead of emulating the accomplishments of others. Ryou had no authority or sufficient accumulated life experience whatsoever to even attempt such a thing.

Luckily for Yuugi, Ryou had been only half listening to him struggle to explain the importance of magically knowing when to say the exact right thing to help your opponent reach a better understanding of themselves and their motivations for playing a game. The other half of Ryou's attention was completely dedicated to how annoyed he was with the hair he had to constantly keep brushing out of his face whenever he shifted position. In this moment it occurred to Ryou that instead of trying to follow Seto's advice and coach himself into being optimally heartless and cold in all his chessic confrontations, he could just ignore the other players completely by never totally looking at them.

This was a great plan, because, again, chess didn't involve a whole lot of talking. As long as Ryou didn't get a good look as his opponent during the match, Ryou could focus more on the board and less on the brief, precarious interpersonal relationship that was developing between him and his opponent in the passing of each turn.

Yuugi had been quite visibly relieved when Ryou shared the eureka moment with him. He didn't even care that Ryou hadn't been listening to him speak for the past ten minutes; he was just happy that Ryou had found a solution that worked for him, and that Yuugi could escape the weighty burden that was fixing all of Ryou's problems for him without having been challenged by Ryou to a card game beforehand.

The day the tournament arrived, Ryou knew he couldn't be more prepared. He employed the hair tactic immediately, and against everyone, wrapping himself as he entered the tournament hall in his own self-made, comforting bubble of partial perceptual isolation. He remembered very little of what happened for the next few hours besides the various boards he played upon and the various shoes of the anonymous directors who led him to his assigned seat at the start of each round. He occasionally had to find his seat himself, and these were the only times he lifted his head enough to see the bustle of people surrounding him. He believed they were all somewhat equally nervous, equally hiding behind something to shield themselves and steel themselves for the task at hand. Everyone had their own devices. Everyone needed a way to pump themselves up for the public test of skill that was tournament competition.

Even in the skittles rooms between rounds, Ryou kept firmly to the crowded corner where he sat amidst his teammates. He ignored anyone who wasn't from Domino High, even when it was obvious they had come over specifically to introduce themselves to him. Jounouchi was soon policing the situation himself, telling those who wished to pry that Ryou was focusing on playing, not making friends, and sent them off with all the gruffness and venom that Ryou himself was too polite to exhibit. Jounouchi was soon saying that anyone on the team who wanted to confer with Ryou about a match had to conceal the name and registration number of their opponent so that Ryou wouldn't have any prior knowledge of that player in case he met them across the board later. Ryou told Jounouchi that this was largely unnecessary because Ryou was playing in a higher section than most of the team, but Jounouchi said he was going to make sure nothing interfered with Ryou's success, even tangentially.

Ryou refrained from telling Jounouchi that Jounouchi was acting equally, if not more so, protective of Ryou's chess performance than Seto already was. Truly the two were cut from the same cloth, though one had been deposited in the lap of aloof luxury and incomprehensibly vast fortune, and the other had become a delinquent in dire financial straits and with no comprehension of how to keep his won dueling money from pouring through his hands as if through the holes in a sieve. Money and status might've been the only great difference between Jounouchi and Seto, and it was likely because Ryou had such a good, forgiving opinion of Jounouchi, his first friend at Domino High, that Ryou forgave Seto's own negative traits equally as much.

Thanks to Jounouchi's unwavering efforts, Ryou was destined to have quite a boring and lonely tournament. Jounouchi's attitude of treating Ryou like their only hope had infected the rest of the team. They assumed a sort of reverent silence now when in Ryou's presence, quick to respond to any comment or request Ryou made, but otherwise unwilling to draw Ryou out into conversation for fear that it might unpredictably disturb or upset him in some way. If Ryou started losing, no-one wanted to be the last person who'd been seen talking to him. No-one wanted to be the one thought responsible for instigating some reaction, some chain of events that cumulated in Ryou's failure, for then it was certain that the combined, unremitting fury of both Seto Kaiba and Jounouchi Katsyua would rain down upon them in full, unmeasured intensity.

Ryou honestly couldn't blame anyone for approaching him with so much newfound caution, as even the innocent requests for advice or for help with reviewing the results of a recent match petered off and then ceased completely. With a sigh, knowing he should've half expected this kind of thing, Ryou began to read the only book he'd found to pass the time, a book about the fundamentals of chess. It was a book about everything he already had down by heart and which his eyes passed over knowingly more than read. He was starting to wonder if perhaps he hadn't already read this exact book months before. The teammate who'd brought it had likely got it from the chess club library, which was where all of Ryou old books were deposited/donated once he was finished with them.

"You seem really relaxed for someone in the quarter finals and with the most points accumulated of everyone in this entire tournament," said Jounouchi as he deposited an armful of vending machine snacks and all the forgotten pencils he'd collected from the nearby seats. The team was always running out of pencils, and it was because they kept leaving them lying around carelessly. Furious but restraining himself, Jounouchi had started to collect every abandoned pencil he saw so that there would be plenty available for anyone who might need one later.

"I'm bored and trying to stay awake," said Ryou, looking up from the book in his hand. He took a bag of snack crackers from the pile.

"Must be nice to be so sure of yourself," said Jounouchi. "The rest of the team isn't doing so bad, but no-one's doing as well as you are."

"Perhaps I should've started in a higher rated section?" said Ryou thoughtfully. "Perhaps where I am now is too easy?"

"They wouldn't let you register for anything higher than where you are now, because you've never competed," Jounouchi reminded him. Jounouchi had no knowledge of the fact that Ryou had competed unofficially in tournaments before now. Nor did anyone else. That had kinda been the idea. "Kaiba as a chess tutor can only get you so far. You still have work your way up and get a rating."

"I know, but…it doesn't feel all that fair to my competitors," said Ryou. He looked off regretfully into the distance, and Jounouchi scurried to shut down this chain of thought before Ryou wandered to far down it.

"It's totally fair," said Jounouchi energetically. "It's how the system works. Next tournament they'll let you start way higher, I'm sure. Everyone will see how well you're doing and they'll be like 'holy shit, that guy needs a damn challenge', and then they'll totally move you up. You might even have to be careful you don't get too ambitious and let them move you _too_ high in that case."

Ryou nodded to this, coming around slowly now. "What did you say to convince them to let me play in the section I'm in?"

"I just told Kaiba to update the team rankings and make it so that you've been the number one on the team for a while. I brought it with me to help argue my point that you aren't a total novice, and that people would claim foul play if you were put in the lower sections, because you'd breeze through them too easily. Things always stink of foul play where Seto Kaiba is involved, so I told them they needed to like, minimize that."

"And so you doctored the team rankings?"

"I wouldn't say that. I'm pretty sure you were better than everyone two months ago anyway. I just wasn't keeping a detailed record of that shit. I had other important things. So, I just dropped off all the recorded matches the team members had been playing against each other since I became president, I dropped them right on Kaiba's desk at school, and I told Kaiba to fucking deal with it, I don't have the time of day for spreadsheets and bullshit. So, by however he figured it, you've been the top player for two months."

Ryou nodded, said he guessed that sounded right, but he, like Jounouchi, hadn't been keeping track of team rankings. Jounouchi told him that he didn't so much guess it as he knew it, that Kaiba had made good on his promise to make Ryou the best player in the team. It was having its intended effect of causing everyone to doubt that Seto had been so bad of a coach, though Jounouchi told them was just because they couldn't properly remember how shitty Seto was now that there was a distance between them. 

Ryou, Jounouchi'd said to the team, was just good at chess and had the right set of skills to excel at it. Ryou told Jounouchi that this wasn't true, that he'd just studied a lot more than anyone on the team, but Jounouchi insisted that this was exactly why Ryou was good. Even if you had to work hard at being good, it still counted as being good, right? As long as you were winning matches, it didn't really matter how you'd reached that point. The results were still the results, and you couldn't argue with them, even if, for whatever reason, you didn't personally believe them.

Ryou went to his next match conflicted, but it didn't affect his performance considerably. His opponents were getting harder and harder as he accumulated points, but so far the matches had seemed rather predictable. At this level the players were pretty consistent with the moves they chose, and it sometimes made Ryou feel like he'd been playing the exact same person in every match for the entire tournament. He knew he hadn't. The hands across the board had all be different from each other. And yet, they were all coming at him from the same place, from the same filtered, concentrated body of knowledge he'd so studiously dedicated himself to for the past several months. Everyone here had rehearsed and revised the most widely accepted blueprints of how to win a match, and, precisely for this reason, Ryou had a good idea of how to keep them from doing so. And he did. And he won.

A few times Ryou offered a draw, seeing that his opponents were skilled enough to predict or defend from his attacks, but not skilled enough to take back the initiative from him. They whittled each other down to their strongest pieces, exchanged queens, and then just survived in circles around each other's threatening presences. In these situations, the positions repeated enough times to call a draw to end the match. Otherwise, fifty turns could pass without a single exchange, and again it was possible to call a draw to end the match. Ryou finally understood, had understood for a while now, why you were able to call a draw here, and he didn't have any doubt or reason to hesitate to do so. Ryou supposed this meant he was a better player than when he'd started out and hadn't understood something like this. He supposed it meant he belonged here, sitting at this board, working his way up until he was challenging a new stranger for first place in the finals of his section.

Ryou supposed he had what it took to win.

It would've been a lie to claim that the entirely of the final round went by in a blur of nerves and heighten emotions, cutting off Ryou's clear recollection of the moves and the twists and turns of fortune that comprised the match. Afterwards, however, Ryou shrugged and described it as such because his memory was so clear and so exact that he wasn't sure where to start. He really could've started anywhere and recited off from that point perfectly, with notes and analysis, all that'd been happening and all that he'd been thinking. He could pinpoint the exact moment, the turn itself, perhaps to the very second, when his mind momentarily wandered off into the memory of a whale-shaped swing he rode at a neighborhood park when he was six.

Ridiculous, non sequitur sorts of thoughts like this always flitted past in the quiet moments between the end of one's turn and the opponent taking far too long to decide how to respond. It was the kind of thing that happened every day to everyone, any time a person was mentally idle or wavering in his or her focus. Normally, these random recollections and tidbits of information went by without note. The only reason Ryou's attention had been drawn to the phenomenon at that moment was because nothing made you think and reflect more about how you thought and reflected than thinking intensely of all the ways to win a challenging chess match.

Indeed, saying the match had been a blur didn't do justice to the immense concentration, the endless seconds passed with baited breath to see if the opponent would catch on to Ryou's machinations, and the sudden need to reevaluate and create a few alternate courses just in case they did catch on. Ryou had never been a subtle player, so he often didn't think much about sneaky traps or complicated, risky maneuvers hinging on everything going just right or his opponent being just oblivious enough. He'd never been able to neatly hide the finishing blow behind the one perfect move that would clench the match for him. In short, Ryou wasn't Yuugi Mutou. With Ryou, his opponents knew they were in a bad place well before Ryou finished them off. Ryou simply wasn't clever or tricky enough to make it a surprise for them. If they were surprised at all, it was because they hadn't seriously considered the intentions behind his moves, which Ryou believed were incredibly obvious if you just looked at them. He thought they were so obvious, in fact, that he always made sure to have a backup plan or two (or three, but rarely four) to retreat into when they failed.

In the end, Seto had trained Ryou best how to struggle against an impassable wall. Thus, when Ryou played against anyone who wasn't Seto, he was always a bit thrown off guard when that wall cracked, toppled over suddenly, and he was able to break through. He could never predict it when his opponent was going to respond poorly, because he always faintly expected them to be perfect, to know more than he did. Ultimately, Ryou couldn't help but play every match like his opponent knew exactly what Ryou was doing, as well as all the limits of Ryou's knowledge and his weaknesses. Because of this, he ended up thinking way too much. Sometimes he felt that he was thinking too far ahead in too many directions, and that it put a great strain on him until he was mentally exhausted.

The problem was, however, that no matter how much he deliberated and tried to anticipate, Ryou could never dream up enough plans or angles of attack to outsmart Seto Kaiba. And in the back of his mind, he was always playing against Seto. Seto could tell what Ryou was trying to do. Seto knew Ryou's game inside an out. Meanwhile, Seto's own game was monolithic, sheer-sided and impossible to scale. Ryou could not surpass him.

The final round Ryou played was the culminating point atop an entire day's worth of increasingly strenuous matches. Ryou remembered feeling sick throughout it. He was starving despite having eaten, like his brain had sucked up every last calorie just to keep up the punishing pace he was running it at. But, hunger and anxiety were very similar emotions as they were expressed by the stomach, so it was also quite possible that he wasn't starving at all, but actually scared. There was the odd sensation of a hole in his chest around his heart, like he no longer had lungs, and every breath he sucked in was passing right out of him and leaving him lightheaded from lack of air. His heart wasn't racing, which would've been a better hint that he was afraid, because it was gone, too. Because there was that gaping hole where it and his lungs should've been, and you could see right through him there to the chair back behind him.

For how much Ryou agonized over every decision in the match after setting up his opening, Jounouchi later expressed surprise and amazement at how quickly and deftly Ryou had appeared to make his moves. He'd only notably slowed near the end, when he'd finally corrected the deficit in material, which had plagued him since the twenty-second turn, with an uneven exchange of one of his pawns for his opponent's bishop. He'd done this by putting the opponent in check and gaining the time in which to capture the enemy bishop. 

The opponent hadn't seen this check coming. They'd shifted uncomfortably when it'd happened, displeased and agitated, and started to enact their final assault too early, apparently with the idea that it might overwhelm Ryou and cause him to make a blunder. Ryou was able to take the enemy queen soon after by using a forked attack with his knight that threatened both it and the enemy king. [1] The opponent audibly grumbled at this. Clearly, the opponent had been so focused on weakening the defense of Ryou's king and keeping their queen back for later that they'd overlooked how far Ryou's knight could reach.

From that point, Ryou only lost pawns and the knight he'd captured the queen with, which the opponent had pursued with a vindictive fervor, as thought this would've somehow made up for the loss of the queen. The opponent became fatally sidetracked with trying to cleverly trap Ryou's own queen and even the balance in material between them. Ryou then only had to keep his queen a safe distance away in order to arrange the rest of his pieces virtually unimpeded.

Ryou soon won the match, even as the opponent finally succeeded in capturing Ryou's queen with a rook. Still, Ryou suspected he could've won faster, and later when he analyzed the match, he noticed several opportunities for advancement that he'd missed when he was momentarily sucked into his opponent's zeal to focus the match entirely on Ryou's queen. Jounouchi assured him the important thing was that Ryou'd won and hadn't timed out. Ryou'd just stared at him in response, speechless, because he'd forgot that Jounouchi wasn't so much like Seto that Jounouchi would criticize a match that wasn't won in the most optimal way possible.

The first and last time Ryou really allowed himself to look up at the spectators and chess players that filled the tournament hall was during the award ceremony at the end of the day. He smiled politely to the person handing him the trophy for winning his section and kept that smile in place for the friends and supporters he knew were in the crowd. Unlike the matches themselves, this part of the day had truly been a blur. Everything had been too bright and loud. Chess had never been so loud before. He'd wanted to hide behind his hair once more and just focus on the hands across the board, except the chess portion of the whole event was over, and he was standing on a podium now, not sitting across the table from an opponent.

Ryou scanned the crowd for Yuugi and his friends, as surely they would be near the front. Yuugi was too famous. Anyone would recognize him and let him get a good seat. Ryou waved the trophy to his friends once he found them, and Honda tried to shoot him the coolest thumbs up a leather-jacket clad teenage boy could muster, but which Ryuuji saw and was quick to mimic jokingly and ruin the effect. Ryou hopped down from the podium as soon as he was allowed to, but had to return later when the cumulated team points where added up and Domino High won third place. (Jounouchi had run the strategy of making every proficient team member play, even those intended as substitutes, in order to gain maximum points.) By now, so many awards were starting to make Ryou a little nervous, as he was sure they would attract too much negative attention from bitter competitors, but he still went up with the team to accept it together.

In the back of the hall, tall and leaning against the doorframe, the green-haired, crotchety middle-aged coach nodded stiffly in acknowledgment of Ryou's wave before leaving. Seto had said he wouldn't attend the tournament so as not to cause bad publicity. If he wasn't Seto right now, Ryou wondered what Seto called himself when he had green hair and a mustache pasted on. He wondered if anyone had ever asked Seto.

After the tournament, Jounouchi decided the team should throw a party to celebrate, but no-one could decide where. This was resolved with a call to Jounouchi from Seto, as he and Jounouchi were clearly the reincarnations of long lost twins and could read each other's minds. Seto was inviting them all to Kaiba Manor for a feast. Jounouchi wasn't a fan of Kaiba Manor, but he was also absolutely all about feasting on a child billionaire's dime, and so it was announced to the team that they should all call their parents and tell them they'd be home late, because they were all going to Seto Kaiba's to celebrate.

###### Notes:

[1] FORKS: So, two chapters ago I told you that you can force an opponent to make a certain move by threatening a valuable piece they might not want to lose, or, in the case of the king, _cannot_ lose. A fork (think of a fork in the road) is a type of attack good for this. It is when you threaten two of your opponent's pieces simultaneously, and your opponent more or less has to choose which forked piece to save because they can't save both. If you create a fork between your opponent's king and another one of their pieces, the king basically MUST remove itself from the threat, and in that case, on your turn, you can easily take the piece that wasn't the king and didn't remove itself. Ideally, you want the other piece that isn't the king to be a valuable piece, such as a queen, which can be hard to trap otherwise.  
[2] Not in chapter: So, uh, I guess this is supposed to be loosely based on a Swiss style tournament but one split into sections, so Ryou won first place in his group, but he didn't play the best players in the entire tournament, because he didn't have a high enough rating to be included in with the top player group anyway. This tournament was just Domino High's debut, not like a huge championship or anything, because they've kinda wasted the whole competitive year sucking too hard to function.


	22. Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro

The Kaiba Manor was resplendent with Domino High school colors [1] and chess themed ornamentation of endless variety and imagination. It seemed Seto had prepared for all this in advance, because it was impossible to figure where he could've bought so much food and such event specific decorations in the mere three hours that had passed since the tournament had ended. The unfurled banners as the team stepped onto the grounds, the giant and plentiful balloons bouncing softly in the evening breeze, and a whole goddamn row of glistening pawn shaped ice sculptures along the hedges couldn't possibly have been commissioned last minute. It appeared as if Seto had taken a gamble that the team would win something, anything really, because, as one astute member noted, nothing specifically said "congratulations on third place". Jounouchi joked sarcastically about what would've happened if the team had failed and got zero trophies. Ryuuji, who as team coach had tagged along for the dinner, joking speculated over what if the only winner had been Ryou.

The team was already well aware that spectacle was kind of Seto Kaiba's thing and the primary mode he knew to express himself. Even Ryou had to admit that while Seto wasn't totally forthcoming with praise and accolades in person, he didn't hold back with a party. Putting on a show and playing card games were the only ways the repressed teen billionaire knew how to express himself, albeit obliquely.

Inside the manor, the overabundance of decorations continued. They were welcomed at the front door by a handful of neatly dressed household staff who where there to take coats and bags and make everyone comfortable, though no-one on the team except Ryuuji had had an experience with this kind of treatment. For a few long, awkward moments, the team stood there, as they couldn't figure out what the people who'd welcomed them were holding out their hands so expectantly for. Assuring them that he would serve as their treasured coach in life as well as in chess, Ryuuji explained the whole handing over your coat and bags thing to everyone. He then lightly admonished Jounouchi, who was one of the few people present to have been to Kaiba Manor before, for not advising his team of these things. Jounouchi threatened to wipe the shit-eating grin off Ryuuji's face with one of the smaller ice sculptures they'd passed on the way in.

The dinning table was in a moderately sized event room with large windows looking out over the grounds. Ryuuji told them that Seto was probably just making them walk through the main hall and the back ballroom to get there in order to show it all off, because why the hell else would a person live in such a place? The team accepted this as gospel. It definitely sounded like something a rich guy would do.

Ryou took a seat near Seto without thinking twice, because Seto was one of the three people present that he knew best after Jounouchi and Ryuuji. Ryuuji sat on Seto's other side to better address Seto when Ryuuji had something to say, for certainly he would. Jounouchi, meanwhile, seem to deliberate. The table was round and moderately sized, nothing like the ridiculously long, imposing style of table one imagined was always used in big houses. This meant Jounouchi couldn't just retreat to the opposite end, well out of reach or concern, while goading the team into joining him in a demonstration of solidarity with Jounouchi over Seto. Instead, Jounouchi grumbled and finally took the seat next to Ryou, practically hiding behind Ryou's voluminous hair so that he wouldn't accidentally see Seto's face and have it ruin his appetite.

Jounouchi soon forgot all his troubles and melodramatic urge to snub his host when the food came out. It was the full royal treatment, which he'd found exceptionally lacking the last time he'd visited and been poisoned by Mokuba with a kid's meal. This, Jounouchi proclaimed the moment the duck liver pâté appetizer had been set before him, was what he was talking about. He and Ryou, not a bone of class or sophistication in either of their bodies, clinked their pâté-laden toasts together like glasses, said cheers, and took the first bite in unison. Ryuuji laughed and wished them better luck than the poor duck. Seto, meanwhile, remained expressionless and took up his fork and knife without a single comment or further glance in either direction.

The rest of the unwitting team laughed nervously, all of them deeply conflicted as to whose lead it was best to follow. But, with Ryuuji and Jounouchi cheering them on and Seto saying nothing whatsoever, the team soon began taking the appetizer up with their hands and exclaimed loudly how cool it was to try foie gras or whatever. The dinner continued in similar high spirits and chatter, which Ryou thought was the way it ought to go, since then everyone would have a good time and make it a real celebration.

The only person not participating in the talking and laughter was their host, Seto. Seto calmly ate each of the courses that followed in almost total silence, as though present but still radically separated from all seated. And yet, the air around him was not one of anger or annoyance, but rather perseverance, as though it were his duty to stoically endure his guests and allow them to act like children at his elegant table. The celebration, as Seto had said while welcoming them upon their arrival, was for the team and their accomplishments. It was not for Seto, so it wasn't Seto's place to step forward and rein in the silliness that was so characteristic of adolescents drunk on the thrill of victory. He reminded himself that he'd helped train them in chess only, not in social refinement and dignified restraint.

The courses were small, but numerous, and if you asked something to be put to the side to finish it later, it would be, even if this was not the standard, done thing in luxury dining. Ryuuji declared that Seto was so rich that they had all passed beyond the pale to a whole other level of luxury where you could break all the rules of refined, polite society with impunity. If they wanted seconds, they could ask for seconds. If their blood couldn't stand the richness of so much butter and prime cuts of meat, they could ask for something stupid like microwaved chicken nuggets or fast food delivered to them. Each of these outrageous suggestions Ryuuji came up with to entertain the team seemed designed to try Seto's patience to its limit, but Seto remain impassive. Dessert soon came and went without a hitch. They were offered coffee and tea. And then, after two hours, the meal was for all intents over.

Seto rose first. He congratulated the team once more on what they'd accomplished, all the while keeping his words general and never singling Ryou out as the only one who'd won first place in anything. Ryou's success spoke for itself. Everyone present knew that Ryou'd done well because Seto'd trained him for it. Ryou was the one who'd supported Seto as the rest of the team grew riled up and turned away. Even Jounouchi had to admit that Seto's vindictively conceived plan had bore fruit in the end, though he maintained that training Ryou had perhaps been easy because Seto'd only needed to dedicate his time and attention to one student. Seto had completely failed at running the entire chess team. For the moment, however, Jounouchi was too full of food to argue and kept these already well-broadcast opinions to himself as Seto spoke.

It seemed as if they should all leave now that the dinner had ended, but Ryuuji was not one to be so easily gotten rid of. Ryuuji suggested that they collect the various chessmen ice sculptures decorating the visible rooms and passageways, and arrange them to form a chessboard on a square tiled portion of the front hall. Respectfully, and totally unlike Ryuuji who'd already run off to mark the delineations of the suggested board with banners pulled down from the wall, the team turned to Seto first. They watched him nervously, with an expectant look, as if to ask permission before they joined Ryuuji. Seto shrugged apathetically and sat down. With this clear indication of assent, the team flowed out of the room to collect the icy chessman and help Ryuuji arrange them on their squares.

A moment later, Ryou returned to the room where the team and he had finished eating. Seto was still there, notifying his staff as they tidied up of the need for mops and at least two or three wet vacuums in the main hall once his guests departed. They should have all of that ready and in reserve so that the water from the melting ice sculptures wouldn't be left to stand overnight.

"Also, have some first aid supplies ready and alert the medical team," said Seto as a loud cry of surprise rang out from the main hall.

"Is there going to be a card duel?" asked the butler. "Shall I have your personal duel disk on hand?"

"No, there isn't," said Seto, almost chuckling at the idea that anyone here might be worth such a challenge. "But we should be prepared for when one of those idiots out there eventually slips and breaks something. On a related thought, call my lawyer. If the Steuben fruit bowl in the corner alcove is shattered by one of those idiots, I'm suing Ryuuji Otogi for property damage."

"Oughtn't we move the Steuben instead, Master Kaiba?"

"Like hell," said Seto. "I want to see that waste of a—oh," Seto stopped then, only just noticing Ryou in the doorway. "Do you need something?" he asked.

"I'd like to talk," said Ryou.

"We can talk about the tournament during Monday's class," said Seto easily. "Go with your friends and tell them not to break anything; the house is practically a museum. Or rather, don't. It's been far too long since I've been personally involved in any sort of litigation, and Otogi more than deserves a lawsuit filed against him for _something_."

"I'm not sure I can make it to class on Monday," said Ryou.

"Then, thanks for the prompt notification. I'll have my schedule updated, and we'll see on Tuesday."

"Not Tuesday, either."

"You want to take a whole week off, I assume?" asked Seto. "That's okay. I guess you deserve it. Maybe a little break is a good idea after all the work we've been doing."

"I'm not sure I want to continue training," said Ryou. "At all."

Seto paused then, his expression turning grave in order to conceal his surprise. Silently, he stood and walked passed Ryou, out of the room, and motioned for Ryou to follow. Ryou, though this was all more or less his own fault for deliberately provoking Seto, trailed after Seto obediently, but with great reluctance, as though he were being dragged. They climbed a narrow, closed flight of stairs that lacked the ostentatious decoration and hugeness of the grand staircase that framed the side of the main entrance hall. These stairs seemed more like they were actually used, and caused Ryou to feel a little amazed that a part of the Kaiba family home might actually have some aspect of being truly lived in in its appearance.

As soon as they arrived at the next floor, and Seto led Ryou back towards the front of the house. They were now at the top of a minstrels' gallery of sorts that lined half of the main hall, looking down at the chess team members and Ryuuji as they organized the particulars of the chess match that would be played out with the ice sculptures. They hadn't been able to locate enough sculptures of different tints to separate the teams, so instead, one half of the board was made up of sculptures from outside, which were smoother and had made it further along in the process of melting, and the other half was made up of sculptures from inside, which had more of their original shape left. Jounouchi stood at one side of the board with part of the team, and Ryuuji stood at the other with the rest. They were getting ready to start.

"Are you the generals or something looking down at the fray?" called Ryuuji as soon as he noticed Ryou and Seto standing above them. "I'm not sure how you'll communicate your orders from up there, but feel free to help Jounouchi anyway you can. He's gonna need it."

"How about me and the whole damn team take you on, asshole?" said Jounouchi in challenge. "I don't need Kaiba's damn help with shit."

"That actually sounds great," said Ryuuji. A wide, sinister grin broke out across his face. "You can all play against me, choose your moves by committee, and then we'll see how truly masterful I really am. I'm going to need one person to help me move the sculptures, though."

Ryou thought about telling Jounouchi not to accept the terms Ryuuji had just given him, while down below in the entrance hall, Jounouchi furiously agreed. If Ryuuji played with a group, there was a chance the other members might out-vote him on a move and give Jounouchi an advantage. Ryuuji playing by himself, however, was probably unbeatable.

"I sort of was thinking about talking in private," said Ryou quietly to Seto so that his voice wouldn't carry down into the hall. "It's very difficult to discuss these kinds of things with other people around."

"What are we discussing?" asked Seto, looking down at the match that was starting. Ryuuji had won the coin toss. He opened with 1. g3. Ryuuji was always trying to make 1. g3 a thing that people dared to try amongst the chess team. So far, no-one had taken him up on it. [2]

"I would like to retire from studying chess," said Ryou. "The question is if you'll let me go quietly."

Seto stared unblinkingly down. Ryou was starting to suspect Seto had positioned them both here in the gallery above the ice sculpture match so as to have an excuse to never once look at Ryou.

"I wasn't expecting you to ask that now, especially not after winning your section," said Seto. "I thought you'd play a while longer. There's so much more you can do competitively. You shouldn't give up like a coward."

"A coward?"

"You're scared the tournament was too easy. You're worried there's now a high expectation of you that you can't meet. You want to quit while you're ahead, because from here it will just get harder for you." Seto said this in a tone of mild disgust, as if the words might infect him and make him as weak and scared as he assumed Ryou was acting.

"I'll compete a little more if you want," said Ryou, "but I would like to have a set point ahead where I know I'll be done, where I can say I've completed what you asked me to do, and I can stop. The contract we have doesn't state a definite end point for training. It just says you're training me for competition."

"You're right that it's a bit open-ended," admitted Seto. "But, I believe I said I wanted you to get a district title at the very least."

Ryou grew still, dreading talk of titles and the increasingly strenuous competitive play that would naturally precede them. He didn't want his last few months of school to pass in a chessic haze. While studying the afternoon before the tournament, Ryou'd been a bit mortified to see that chess was the only thing he could think to do with himself in his free time. He'd hoped a resounding victory in his first "real" tournament, the taste of tangible success after all his efforts, might motivate him into playing even more. Instead, it just reinforced to him how little competition mattered. The only thing chess specific that Ryou looked forward to was playing against Seto, but playing against Seto came with the price of training for competition. Ryou had no desire to pay such a price for whatever indefinite amount of time longer.

"I'm not sure I have enough points for any title," said Ryou. He wasn't certain how many he'd need, but it was probably a lot. He'd probably have to nearly kill himself struggling to earn them all as well. The task seemed insuperable.

"You're damn right," said Seto. "And mathematically, it would be kind of impossible for you to earn enough points, even if you didn't lose another match for the entire rest of the season. You're way too far behind."

Ryou brightened at this, obviously relieved. At least he had something of a guarantee there'd be no breakneck rush for points at the last minute. If all he had to do was play in a few competitions until the end of the year, he'd probably be able to manage. It would still be unpleasant for him, but there'd be less pressure to perform perfectly.

"I'll take the responsibility for that," said Seto. "I didn't keep in mind there was a deadline. So, I'll keep helping you with school."

For a second Ryou didn't realize that "help with school" meant "pay for grades". He became a little embarrassed at the reminder.

"We can draw up an amendment to the contract now, and you can take the rest of the week off," said Seto. "This match," he nodded towards the group below, "might take longer than expected."

At that moment, Jounouchi was arguing with Ryuuji that a move Jounouchi's team had just made had been misplaced. He said it was hard to read which squares where which when they were so large and far away and covered in water. Ryuuji needed to let them fix it. Arguing back, but unable to conceal his mirth, Ryuuji insisted that they only wanted to change the moved because they'd suddenly realized it was stupid and had left the bishop undefended against Ryuuji's knight.

Seto once more turned and motioned for Ryou to follow, but this time not as abruptly. They arrived in a small, immaculate room that Ryou couldn't determine the function of except that it had a desk in a corner, which signified work might occasionally be done there. However, there was also a couch, a set of reclining chairs, a TV, and a small library, which didn't seem all that conducive to working. Seto pulled a chair from against the wall and set it down at the end of the desk. Ryou took it, and Seto sat in front of the computer. He turned the monitor so Ryou could see the screen as the typed contract was pulled up.

"So, an end date," said Seto, resting his fingers over the keys in anticipation. "When were you thinking of exactly?"

Put on the spot, Ryou wasn't entirely sure anymore. The atmosphere, which had seemed oddly emotionally charged only a few minutes ago, was now so cool and business-like between them that it seemed Seto had somehow, unbeknownst to Ryou, set off at full sail and left a wide gulf of formal, official distance between them. Ryou was a bit stunned at the realization that months of hard work and effort, hours and days of his life dedicated to one all-encompassing pursuit, were easily and impersonally ended with only a few lines affixed to an existing document.

Ryou swallowed, and found his throat had gone dry. Seto had cleverly, wickedly, put the onus of the entire decision on Ryou, and Ryou wasn't stupid enough not to see that. If Ryou was the one who wanted to quit, then Ryou'd have to be the one to determine the finer details. This was logical, and there was no resistance from Seto. Really, was Seto not giving Ryou exactly what Ryou'd asked for?

"What sort of milestones are left at this point?" asked Ryou tiredly. "All I can think of is that I can walk away and quit whenever I want, but I don't think that will be fair to you, since it would be too sudden, and you'd need to know in advance because you have a strict schedule."

"I appreciate the consideration," said Seto coolly, mechanically, because it was a thing you had to say to be polite in negotiations.

"I would say after a certain number of competitions, but I'm not sure how many would be reasonable."

"How about once you're permanently rated?" said Seto after a long pause. "Play more rated matches, and you can end the lessons sooner. Take your time, and it will take longer."

"Do I have to attain a certain level?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Then, that sounds good."

Ryou fidgeted and glanced about the room as Seto typed the amendment at rapid speed. There was a sound of a printer coming to life, and Seto reached over and pulled the finished papers from it. He worked swiftly and with utter professionality, brandishing a stapler and fixing everything together in a single, practiced, graceful gesture of one who undoubtedly knew their way around office supplies. He passed the copy over to Ryou and rolled closer in order to demonstrate to Ryou clearly where the changes had been made and to have Ryou initial and date alongside for good measure. They then both signed the document anew, and Seto said he'd have an official copy run tomorrow and sent by Ryou's residency before the day was out. As Ryou agreed to this, Seto pulled a folder from a desk drawer and filed the contract away into it, before depositing it in a basket at the corner of the desk to be addressed in the morning when his secretary could be called.

All settled to both party's satisfaction, Seto seemed more than prepared to rise and go about some other business. Yet, as chance would have it, after an entire evening of avoiding the thing, Seto finally, utterly by accident, caught Ryou's eyes in a glance that was far from fleeting, though for a moment Seto strongly wished it would be.

Seto paused. He forgot what he was doing, the excuse he had prepared to extricate himself, why they'd even come to this room; everything. Instead, filling his mind was the fervent desire to express something to Ryou, something Seto was frustrated to discover he couldn't quite put into words. Honestly, what could be said? And yet the overwhelming desire to speak, to act, to do something, still consumed and perplexed him.

 _Ryou shouldn't be allowed to go._ To where or in what sense, Seto wasn't certain, but Ryou definitely shouldn't.

"Wait."

Ryou, who was already making to stand to leave, stopped and sat back down. The tone of Seto's voice was peculiar, and arrested Ryou's attention. It didn't seem to merit a spoken response, so instead Ryou simply did as Seto had told him: He waited. He waited and he watched, not certain if turning away was much of an option. Something about what was threatening to pass between them here seemed intriguingly momentous, and Ryou anticipated it cautiously like one anticipated the climax of an alleged mind-reading card trick masterfully executed by a magician in the street. There was much intense curiosity in the anticipation, some small doubt as well, and interspersed throughout the wriggling fear that one may look like an idiot once all was said and done.

Seto appeared determined to have Ryou waste away in the suspense, however, as he had nothing clearly in mind with which to follow his command for Ryou to wait. A certain uneasiness began to develop between them as many long seconds passed, but Seto never totally, dismissively, averted his gaze in an attempt to relieve the discomfort by any degree. He wasn't staring at Ryou fixedly, of course, because that would've been extremely weird. But, he also wasn't completely avoiding acknowledging that Ryou was definitely in the room.

As whole minutes seemed to pass, it became painfully obvious to the both of them that Seto had no idea how to proceed.

"So…is there something else?" asked Ryou, repentant of the fact that this was something of a cruel question, intended to draw full attention to Seto's oddness of behavior. Unfortunately, Ryou hadn't been able to think of anything else to say.

"You can practice for your remaining competitions with the team instead of me," said Seto, suddenly reactivated, as if Ryou's question had thrown the switch that brought him back. Seto attempted to squelch whatever it was inside him that leapt back in alarm and insisted that what Seto was saying was not a good idea, because Ryou shouldn't be allowed to go. Seto was starting to get an idea what that part of him was implying, and he was not a fan. "You can still come to me for advice, and perhaps a true lesson once a week until you're properly rated. But, since they're your friends, I believe you ought to make good with the rest of the team. It's no longer about you proving you can outperform them. You already have. Instead, it'll be better from now on that you all work together, and that I don't interfere."

"I don't mind practicing chess together," said Ryou. "I'd still like to practice with you, if possible. It's fun. I understand if you're too busy for that kind of thing, though."

"Really?" asked Seto, suspicious. Even Seto Kaiba himself had no idea who on Earth would actually want to spend time with Seto Kaiba. Ryou, obviously, was being polite to not hurt Seto's feelings, and Seto was immediately annoyed at the insinuation Seto might have feelings to hurt in this circumstance. "You don't even like chess. We know I just make you do it. Such a patronizing attitude isn't very appropriate right now."

"I'm not trying to sound patronizing," said Ryou. "Everyone keeps telling me that you and I count a friends at this point, so I guess I consider you a friend. A friend I pretty much only talk about chess with, but still a friend."

Seto's first instinct, pathetically, was to automatically insist that he and Ryou were not friends. He kept his mouth shut, however, and thought before answering. He supposed that maybe this reason, this feeling, was why he didn't want Ryou to go: Ryou and Seto were something approximately kind of similar to friends at this point. There was a bond between them that Seto shared with very few people. In fact, fewer than few. If asked, Seto would openly confess that he didn't have _any_ friends, not really, and he'd be proud of himself as he said it.

And yet, training for hours with Ryou, suffering together the emotional upheavals of their successes and failures, had allowed a certain level of familiarity to grow between them. This familiarity, naturally, must've been the source of the indefinable feeling that haunted Seto when he looked at Ryou directly and saw him as a person who really existed right there in front of Seto. It was the feeling that Ryou was uncommonly important to him, that Ryou was perhaps someone it would be exceptionally uncomfortable to lose.

Ryou, it was now clear to see, was in fact Seto Kaiba's only friend. _Shit_.

"Of course we're more or less friends," said Seto sharply, like the fact was obvious, and he hadn't only just now realized it. Like Seto'd known they were basically friends all along. Like Ryou was the only idiot between them who didn't see those kinds of things without other people telling him. "And as your friend, I'll tell you I'm a little offended at the implication that you suspected otherwise. But, also as your friend, I'll forgive this stupid mistake and we'll pretend it didn't happen."

Ryou, to put it mildly, was horribly confused. He'd expected plenty of ridicule directed at him for calling Seto his friend. He hadn't expected to be ridiculed for the complete opposite.

"Here," said Seto, extending his hand in the classic, international businessman's gesture of signaling that an accord that been reached: the handshake. "We're friends, Ryou. Let's agree on that to avert any further confusion."

Ryou, not sure whether to laugh nervously or narrow his eyes in uncomprehending alarm, reached out and took Seto's proffered hand. It was unexpectedly cool around the fingers and smooth. It felt like a rich person's hand, Ryou supposed. More than that, though, Ryou was fascinated at the feel of it, because Ryou'd certainly spent a lot of time looking at Seto's hands and familiarizing himself indirectly with every aspect of their visual appearance, every bend and crease and shadowy vein. He was perhaps something of an expert on them, in everything, a bit ironically, except in how they felt.

It felt like a hand. It was a hand. What could Ryou have expected?

"Alright," said Ryou, awkwardly aware of every sensation as Seto's hand gripped his own. He recalled that they'd shook hands once before, back when they'd first made up the contract. It hadn't been anything special then. But now, so many months later, there was a sort of electricity in the touch that had been missing before, a sort of dance of nerve impulses firing off continuously below the skin, as if they were trying to call all of Ryou's attention to the smallest details flitting by, as if such details comprised a passing window of opportunity that Ryou wasn't taking. It was a response, Ryou noted with discomfort, more suited to a caress or something more inherently intense. It was therefore strange and utterly disproportional to the deliberate, cooperative gesture of Ryou and Seto's stupid, awkward handshake.

Confounding things further, Seto once more committed the inexcusable faux pas of _lingering_ in his contact with Ryou. He pulled his hand away slowly once he realized this, but the atmosphere between them was irrevocably altered. This time, unlike the night before, there was no bustling hurry to leave, no good excuse to retreat and despise one's stupidity alone in the car later. Instead, Seto cleared his throat and spun back to the computer to turn it off and feign that this had all been nothing. To imply he hadn't even noticed any change. Ryou could still feel the ghost of Seto's grip wrapped around his hand as he placed his hand back into his own lap.

It was a handshake that had carried them across the Rubicon, and neither knew what would be found on the other shore. Both quietly denied another shore have even been reached. They pretended it was the same as it had always been, united in a mutual aversion to facing something that they might not be adequately prepared for at this juncture. Seto Kaiba had never had a friend before. Ryou had never been friends with a [previously] friendless person. What exactly was that going to entail from the both of them? How exactly were they expected to proceed? And why did friendship not feel like it was the most optimal way to describe the simmering intensity of Seto's choked off and subdued emotions. Seto was too much about optimization for this unbalance to sit well with him, but now was not the time for inner reflection and puzzling it out. He'd consult a thesaurus and a dictionary on the subject later.

"As…friends…," said Seto, still needing to make some effort at calling Ryou his friend, because Seto was entirely unaccustomed to allowing another person to be friends with him. "As friends, we can still play chess together. I wouldn't mind it. Just call me. On my actual number, not my secretary's. Here."

Seto took a pen and glanced over the desk. He plucked a business card from a small case within arm's reach and turned it over to write a neat row of numbers across the center. Finished, he handed the card to Ryou. Ryou saw it was very empty card, holding only generic contact information for Seto's company and his main office. Obviously Seto Kaiba's fame more than preceded him in all his business dealings. The KaibaCorp CEO needed little introduction.

"You already have my, uh, my _only_ number," said Ryou as he turned the card over in his hand once as a sign of respect before pocketing it. "So," he continued. "Do you want to see how Ryuuji and Jounouchi's game is going? If Ryuuji hasn't already destroyed them all already, that is. Ryuuji doesn't hold back."

Finally, a break in the awkwardness presented itself. Ryou's considerate effort to give Seto an excuse to leave this room, this exchange, all of this, was noted and appreciated by Seto. However, "Not really," said Seto. He stood then and went to peruse the books on the shelf, not likely to move from there. "I don't care."

"But you're the host," said Ryou. "You shouldn't ignore your guests."

"You can stay here or go downstairs with your friends," said Seto. "I'll remain up here. My staff has orders to have you all sent home in cars at ten, and at that time, I'll go to bed. There's no reason to put up with Jounouchi and Otogi under some pretense of being polite. You guys ate the best damn food in the country for free. My job is done."

"Thanks for the celebratory dinner, by the way," said Ryou. "I almost forgot to say thanks."

Seto shrugged. "You're the only one who's said thanks."

"Really?" asked Ryou in surprise. "Well, it was great. I'm sorry no-one's thanked you."

"Don't be sorry. I'm used to that kind of thing," said Seto indifferently. "And anyway, I don't act with the expectation that I'll be thanked profusely. I don't need it. Don't worry."

"Well, I'll go downstairs then, I guess," said Ryou as he stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned about and looked at Seto. Hesitantly, he added, "I won't see you, so…uh, have a good night. I'll take the next week off of lessons, but, maybe I'll call. I dunno. We'll see. Goodnight."

"Okay," said Seto with a nod of farewell to Ryou. Then, "…goodnight," he added in a smaller voice once Ryou was already gone. Seto'd never wished Ryou a goodnight before. Technically, Seto supposed he still hadn't, as Ryou hadn't heard him, but still. Seto had felt compelled to say it. He didn't know why. Maybe it was something friends did.

Seto pulled down a thesaurus from the shelf, and then a dictionary, and then he got to work.

###### Notes:

[1] Whatever the hell colors those might be.  
[2] The opening move of 1. g3 is related to those flanked openings I mentioned a few chapters ago. It's not super popular, so that's kind of the joke that Ryuuji is trying to make it popular with the team, when it's likely they don't even have the skill to properly pull it off anyway.  
[3] NOT IN CHAPTER: Kaiba Manor is really ugly and boring. Like someone either widened the American White House, or cut some windows off the Finnish Presidential Palace, both of which to me are too neoclassical to be beautiful, but definitely give a strong feeling of State with a capital S. At any rate, I guess in my head I am basing the interior of the manor on a mix of the White House, the board game Cluedo/Clue, and the interior description of the house in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca. All equally noble houses, clearly. And all super old-fashioned and stately, because Gozaburo Kaiba naturally made his house look like he was president of the world instead of just some rich guy. Look at Pegasus's batshit goddamn _castle_ for an example of how people who are merely rich build a house. (HINT: With dungeons, always with dungeons. And trap doors. Don't forget those.)  
[4]NOT IN CHAPTER: In the manga, Jounouchi got poisoned in Kaiba Manor. I pick and choose the continuity to follow. Sometimes manga; sometimes anime. It's mostly manga, though, to be honest, because Ryou is a bigger character there, so you kind of have to lean on the manga when you write about him. Also, I'm far too lazy to rewatch the anime, but the manga you can just like flip through casually to look stuff up. Manga!Seto, though…holy shit manga!Seto. That guy has zero fucking chill. Anime!Seto, from what I remember, is way more of an occasional human being. But manga!Seto is fucking hardcore. You don't fuck with manga!Seto. Shit.


	23. Un millión de amigos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's suggestion: I probably played "Amigo" by Roberto Carlos the entire time writing, and YOU SHOULD DO THAT, TOO. Go find that song and play it...for like the entire rest of the fic. And if you don't speak Spanish, I dunno what to tell you. Maybe find a translation? I would do it for you, but that would waste a lot of time and space in this story, so you're on your own.... Also, if you're curious, the chapter title is yet another Roberto Carlos song that you can listen to! See how I'm even bringing the overarching YGO theme of friendship into this fic?_

"Well, isn't that an interesting turn of chessic legerdemain," said Ryuuji, suddenly bolting across the room to a far table where two new, just ranked chess team members were playing a warm-up match.

"Wh—what?" asked the players in unison, dumbfounded as why Ryuuji had suddenly appeared in their midst. Ryou came up behind Ryuuji, waving to them as he approached and smiling apologetically to the younger boy who was avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Cheating," said Ryou, interpreting for Ryuuji. "He means to say you've cheated in your match. This advantageous position of your knight was an illegal move when you made it, as it put your king in check. You just moved the king out of check now, but it shouldn't—or, actually it legally couldn't—have been in check anyway."

"Not very chivalrous of you," said Ryuuji, tsking at the boy. "Taking advantage of your opponent's lack of detailed attention in such a way. Let me catch you again, and you'll never see a tournament floor. We can't have cheaters in our ranks."

The match resumed, with Ryuuji keeping a careful eye on the players for the rest of the class. Ryou went back to explaining to a girl how to pin valuable pieces and get ahead by material. This required explaining the relative value of each piece, which she'd forgotten. Ryuuji had joked she was sacrificing her rooks rather brazenly in her campaigns, and then asked her if it was because she despised rooks for some unspecified reason, making their use in her mates a cause for moral outrage. She'd blinked at him, uncomprehending, the sheen of Ryuuji's charismatic jester persona having long since worn off with her. She'd then called Ryou over and asked him to explain what the hell Ryuuji was trying to suggest, because it didn't sound like it was something nice, and chess was hard enough already without Ryuuji smirking at her and speaking in riddles.

"Ryuuji, you need to stop talking to the team like they know as much about chess as you do," said Ryou, trying to sound severe as they carried the chess team supplies over to a cupboard to lock them away for the evening. "And stop joking around. No-one understands the jokes. You're the only one who's ever laughing at them."

"I believe I saw you smile," said Ryuuji.

"I mean the team doesn't get you. I'm not talking about myself," said Ryou. "And I wasn't smiling at your joke. I was smiling at the baffled confusion that was on the player's face because what you said was kind of unintelligible. Veiled insults to amuse yourself aren't going to make the team better, you know. Are you trying to get Seto to fire you?"

"Ah yes, _Seto_ ," said Ryuuji, laughing. "I wish I were friends with the greatest mountain of money in the world,"[1] he said with feigned wistfulness. Ryou highly doubted Ryuuji meant this, because everything Ryuuji had ever done to Seto seemed intended to produce quite the opposite effect of deepening the already sparse camaraderie that hardly existed between them.

"I don't want to be stuck training the team by myself," said Ryou. "I need your help, okay? Stop trying to rile everyone up. The players on the team are more astute to how rude you can be than the average fanclub sort of girl might, so you won't be able to get away with treating them like idiots. You shouldn't even be treating the girls who like you like idiots, either. Have some basic respect."

"You don't know; you've only just got here," said Ryuuji, shrugging nonchalantly but grown more subdued in his attitude under Ryou's quiet reproach. "Do you realize how many times I've told them how much a rook is worth? How many times I've told them, yes, a knight and bishop are equally valuable at the start of the match, but that a knight can be worth more than a bishop under the proper circumstances? And yet…they still throw these pieces away with abandon, only thinking of a temporary gain of a square they'll lose in two turns because they haven't supported their advance with auxiliary forces. It's maddening. I'm losing my mind, and my only outlet is to try to amuse myself because if I can't laugh, then the despair will swallow me whole and destroy me."

Ryou waited patiently, apathetically, as the dramatic, long-suffering exclamations of Ryuuji Otogi washed over him. He arched an eyebrow, as if to ask whether Ryuuji was quite done here or not. Ryuuji kicked the cupboard door shut spitefully, like a child, hoping to trap Ryou's fingers between the door and its frame. Ryou retracted his hands just in time, and the rolled up boards and boxes of chess sets clattered to the floor of the cupboard inside. He sighed and looked over at Ryuuji, shaking his head. [2]

"I'm here to help you out now," said Ryou reassuringly. "And I can get Jounouchi to be more hands-on with helping the team with the basics. He doesn't listen to you, I know, but I could probably coax him into it. Then there will be three of us, and it will be much easier. Jounouchi and I can field all the…more rudimentary questions."

"You mean all the dumb questions," said Ryuuji. "All the imbecilic, demoralizing, 'what do you mean you didn't realize chess and checkers were two distinct games until right now' questions. Good luck."

"Someone's got to answer them," said Ryou. He opened the cupboard to check that none of the fallen boxes had burst open when he'd thrown them inside. Everything seemed all right, and he quickly straightened up a little before shutting the door again to lock it.

"I'm starting to see why Kaiba is friends with you," said Ryuuji contemplatively as he watched Ryou.

Ryou frowned down at the lock and the key he was turning. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"You get along with everyone so impossibly well that even Seto Kaiba can't chase you off. I just tried to shut your fingers in a door, and you didn't even yell at me." Ryuuji took the keys from Ryou and they left the classroom. Ryuuji elaborated on the point as they walked to their lockers to retrieve their school bags. "You're like one of those dogs that people say is good with kids because you just sit there and let kids climb over you and pull on your ears and shout, and the most you do is just get up and leave the room when you're tired of it. You never snap; you never growl. You just sit there."

"I get mad," said Ryou. "I mean, I'm not Jounouchi or Seto, but I'm totally capable of anger"

"I don't believe it."

"The other day I burned my hand with water from an electric kettle I dropped. I was angry. The handle is too thin on it. You know the one with the blue details on the base?"

"That's not anger; that's getting rightfully annoyed with shoddy electric kettle design," said Ryuuji. He patted Ryou on the head, as though praising Ryou for having made a good try, although Ryou'd failed. Ryou swatted Ryuuji's hand away. "I suspect you have one of those silent, brooding angers. Like, you fume quietly, and then you go home and make excuses for everything, and then you're fine so long as the person who pissed you off doesn't repeat it. If they repeat it, you just stop talking to them instead of dealing with it."

"I haven't ever done that," said Ryou. "No-one's ever made me that angry. I try not to take a lot of what people do personally."

"But you hated that other self in the Sennen Ring, though, right?"

This was not a tactful question. Ryou's expression became obscured, empty, impossibly grave. His voice sounded dull when he spoke, like his brain had formulated a response, but his mouth didn't want to say it. The eager, obliging brain was forcing the words out of him, because the opportunities to explain such things were rare, and the brain wanted to share a bit to lighten its load.

"I'm not sure if it's hate," said Ryou. "It would be like hating a natural disaster, which I'm sure people might do, but it's a useless hate you can't easily direct anywhere. The other self was like something that happened to me, a chronic illness I had to manage. My mission was to always stand in its way as often as possible. Rather than anger, I intensely wanted it to never, ever win. I don't know if that's hate. It definitely wasn't the kind of anger Jounouchi has, yelling and threatening all the time. I don't light up with rage at the recollection of it. The memory is more like the memory of a heavy burden, a painful circumstance that couldn't be helped. I think a wrathful, burning hatred, in that sort of situation, would've been poisonous. The constant hopelessness intertwined with it would've worn someone down."

Ryuuji, for once, was silent. He could find no response suitable for such a topic. He wondered why he'd even asked Ryou such a terrible question about the darkest part of Ryou's past in the first place. What sort of morbid curiosity had risen up and driven Ryuuji to bring it up? Ryuuji kept his mouth shut now and waited for whatever had come over him to pass before speaking again. They were outside of the school and down the street an entire block before he deemed himself recovered.

"It's good you don't hate yourself," said Ryuuji, no mirthful twinkle in his eye, no trick ready to be pulled. "They say people who hate a lot are people who hate themselves. They see everyone as they see themselves, and they can't fucking stand it."

Ryou nodded along with this, not certain he agreed with it. They'd reached the point in the street where they normally parted ways and so they stopped a moment and waited for one or the other to speak.

"I think Seto Kaiba could do with a friend," said Ryuuji, thoughtful as before. Ryou seemed to have forced one of his more meditative moods out of him by scolding his behavior towards the chess team. Or perhaps talk of anger naturally reined him in some because he'd spent so much of his life blindly hating a person he'd never met. "I mean, he has more than he thinks he does," said Ryuuji, "because Yuugi and them count him as a friend, but I guess it's good that he has a friend he acknowledges as such. Who knows, maybe this is a step toward humanizing the guy. Although, it will be much harder to make fun of him once he's no longer a walking caricature of himself. I'm not sure the world is ready for a human Seto Kaiba. He's publicly elevated himself so far above us, we might not be ready to see him come down a little closer to our level."

"I don't think he'll change that much," said Ryou with a shrug. "He's kind of normal once you know him. He's bossy and intimidating at times, but that's normal for his job, I think."

"Who knows, maybe this will be a domino effect and he'll make all kinds of friends in the future," said Ryuuji, once again veering towards ridiculousness like a natural instinct. "He'll even call them his friends, which will be a great improvement. And it will become like a private club for just him and his group, and they'll prowl the streets together, or solve mysteries, or rent out entire hotels to party the weekend away in infamous excess. Invite me to that if it happens."

"I don't think he's going to start making lots of friends," said Ryou, laughing at the idea of Seto developing an entourage composed of something like his social equals and not of simple hangers-on. "Not many people can relate to a guy with a billion dollars and a company named after his family, and Seto knows that. He's always going to distrust everyone. That won't change."

"And yet he trusts you," said Ryuuji. The laughing jester began to simmer below the surface once more, because a fresh opportunity to tease Ryou had presented itself.

"We have chess," said Ryou, the spoilsport.

"But you can't relate at all to running a billion dollar company. He can't relate at all to the lack of a billion dollar company."

"Seto Kaiba is a person, not just a billion dollar company."

"Spoken as a true friend," said Ryuuji with a congratulatory pat on Ryou's back. "No wonder Seto Kaiba's KaibaCorp is so successful. He's got an eye for talent. You'll make a most excellent friend for him. A true companion. With such a great friend, he might not even need to get married. Everyone knows you just get married to have someone legally obligated to hang around and put up with you until you die. He'll probably get that obligatory support from you, and then sleep with models and actors and such people as he's expected to be seen eating in restaurants with. He'll then die in fifty years a confirmed bachelor with you and Mokuba weeping by his side with lilies and chrysanthemums in your hands, his brother and his only friend. Fin."

Ryou didn't turn too terribly red in embarrassment. Actually, he laughed obligingly at the detail that had been put into Ryuuji's vision. This was what Ryou got for being Seto Kaiba's only friend, Ryou supposed. Ryou was going to have to get used to the abuse.

Being friends with Seto wasn't as easy as being friends with Yuugi was, though Yuugi was perhaps equally as famous as Seto. Ryou had known Yuugi before Yuugi had been known by the world, so Ryou'd been accepted by the celebrity obsessed public as just a part of the packaged deal of Yuugi's school friends. Ryou was counted along with Anzu and Honda as people Yuugi hung out with, but who weren't very famous or individually interesting.

Seto Kaiba, however, occupied an entirely different realm of fame, because his celebrity status merged with real power derived from his fortune and the huge corporation he helmed. Seto wasn't just famous for entertaining people with his gaming talents; he was a financial entity, a part of the global economy. He was useful in ways more important than winning games and posing for magazines. It was only by chance that he was also young and attractive. Being built like a male fashion model made people interested in much more than just the fluctuations in the price of your company's shares, which meant people cared who Seto Kaiba's "real" friends were. Adding to the mystery was the fact that he publicly professed not to have friends, not even at school.

Originally, Ryou had assumed Seto would maintain his image and be discreet about their position as friends, keeping it half a secret as long as he could. However, this had not been the case. Before Ryou could even consider whether or not he wanted it to be common knowledge in school that he and Seto were more than fellow chess conspirators, Seto had joined Ryou in a classroom pair's activity before anyone else had had the chance. Seto commented how the new arrangement between them made pairing up in class simpler for him. Normally, Seto paired with whoever remained or was nearest. If there was no-one left, he shrugged and took out a book to read instead, and the teacher said nothing of it.

Naturally, the class had noticed the change. Jounouchi, who'd been planning to pair off with Ryou because Ryou took better notes, soon notified any classmates who might not have noticed by grumbling loudly and telling Seto that Seto was denying Ryou's excellent notes to the public in need. Seto had shrugged, taken Ryou's notebook from Ryou's desk, and tossed it to Jounouchi. Jounouchi reached out and caught it automatically, gaping at Seto as he tried to think up a new complaint out of spite and a tenacity not to lose. The teacher ordered Jounouchi to be quiet and sit down properly, and with this, Jounouchi backed off, though he occasionally looked back and tried to catch Ryou's eye in order to relay to Ryou with the most poignant of looks that Ryou had wounded him deeply.

The following days Seto continued to make no secret that he and Ryou had something of a rapport. The little, completely normal things he did, such as asking Ryou in the hall if there was a substitute in gym class, lending Ryou a pencil sharpener during math, and asking Ryou about his next tournament while waiting for first period to start, were not ignored by the inquisitive masses. Ryou interacted more with his normal friends than he did Seto, but saying two words to Seto in the course of a school day was enough to perk the attention of most nearby.

Ryou had tried to convince Seto during lunch to sit with Yuugi and everyone else, but Seto had declined. He clarified that his extension of friendship was only offered to Ryou, not those in Ryou's perimeter. Ryou pointed out that Seto already knew everyone, and that they considered him an acquaintance very much close to a friend already, especially Yuugi. Seto admitted that he did know Yuugi, but Yuugi wasn't his friend. If Ryou wanted to hang out with his friends, he could, and Seto wouldn't care. Ryou didn't need to change his habits or anything. Ryou and Seto were friends, not conjoined twins.

"You know, there're much fewer girls following me around when you're nearby," said Ryou as he and Seto sat together at a table near the edge of the patio during lunch. Yuugi was absent, attending a card game tournament in Baraja City as an honored guest. Jounouchi and Honda were playing a game of pick-up basketball with a group, which Ryou had turned down because he'd had to meet a promising chess club member who wanted to move up into the chess team. This meeting should've been Jounouchi's job as the team captain, but Jounouchi never checked the team email. Ryou, by rejoining the chess team as a more active member, had somehow been shifted to the position of the unofficial vice-president of the entire club. Both Jounouchi and Seto had pushed him in this administrative direction, with Jounouchi saying Ryou had been good at helping to run things when Seto had originally flaked on the team, and Seto saying that Ryou needed something to do with his free time that still kept him focused on chess.

The planned meeting, however, had been cancelled, as the student hadn't shown up. Leaving the classroom to find somewhere to eat, Ryou had run into Seto in the hall, and had spontaneously asked Seto if he'd like to eat together.

"I understand you're suggesting that this is my fault," said Seto. He showed the no sign of being perturbed by Ryou's comment. He calmly ate his strangely beautiful and mysterious salad filled with shapes of vegetables and colorful ingredients Ryou didn't recognize. It had been delivered to the school by courier only moments ago, and the man who'd brought it had even offered to wait on Seto if Seto wished. Seto had excused the courier and carried the case himself to where Ryou had invited him to sit and eat. Ryou'd watched Seto as he'd unpacked the salad, which was wrapped neatly in colored paper like a gift. He suspected that the huge chunk of meat Seto lifted to his mouth in the first bite was something absurdly nice for a Tuesday afternoon, like lobster. Ryou looked down at his own cold chicken cutlet sandwich unable to rectify the stark, visual clash that was the image of these two meals sharing the same table.

"I guess it's relaxing," said Ryou, taking up the sandwich anew. He didn't like salad anyway. Seto was always trying to be healthy with those kinds of foods. "The girls don't bother me much, but I get tired always surrounded by people. I don't have a lot to say all the time, so I read while they talk. I guess that makes me look arrogant, like I don't appreciate the attention. The girls understand, though. They bring me books."

"What books?" asked Seto. "Girly stuff? Romantic garbage?"

"No," said Ryou, quick to defend people who, though perhaps not his closest friends, were still fond of him and treated him nicely. "The last book someone handed me was about indigenous floral and fauna of the Pacific Northwest."

"And you read that?" asked Seto with some disbelief.

"Yeah. There're lots of birds in that part of the world, I guess. And orcas."

"Why did she even have such a book?"

"I think she liked orcas or something. I definitely remember orcas being a main point of the conversation we had."

Seto observed Ryou silently a moment, uncertain if what Ryou was saying was true or not. There was no indication that Ryou might be lying to him, and yet, Ryou having read such a book at the behest of one of the girls that pursued him seemed completely absurd. Seto frowned.

"Have you actually followed through with one of those girls?" asked Seto carefully. With personal questions, as with all other sorts of questions, he lacked much discretion. The few times in his life in which he'd ever attempted to display well-mannered sensitivity had all being feigned in order to console shareholders or diffuse emotionally charged debates between executives that were threatening to devolve into shouting matches across the board room. "You're so permissive of their behavior," Seto explained, aware that it was very easy to have one's intentions misconstrued in bringing up these things. "It wouldn't that strange if you'd just gone along with one of them and…tried your luck, maybe. I assume the opportunity has presented itself."

Ryou laughed, much to Seto's surprise. It wasn't even nervous, diversionary laughter meant to signify stress or a boundary crossed. Ryou just laughed. He couldn't even continue eating for a few minutes. Ryou didn't seem in much of a hurry to either answer the question or to diplomatically digress from it. Eventually, Seto glared at him, as the reaction drew itself out and began to grate on Seto's nerves. It made him suspect Ryou might be laughing at _him_ , boldly and raucously, having lost all respect for Seto now, exactly as Seto'd been afraid Ryou would do once they'd become friends.

Seto waited impatiently for the irksome laughter to subside. This took well over a minute.

"In short, no," said Ryou with a small, amused sigh as the final throes of the overwhelming hilarity of Seto's question trickled out through a soft chuckle here and there, and then dissipated. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing from those girls," he added, becoming a little more serious, thought there remained a faint blitheness to his tone that hadn't left it. "They're just kind of playing around, you know? It's like a game for them to exaggerate and act like they're crazy over me because I'm pretty, and I'm nice about it. The attempts they make aren't serious. If I ever actually dated one of the girls, it would ruin the whole thing. It would become ugly between us, and I'd have a lot of problems. I wouldn't be someone safe for them to have a silly crush on anymore. They'd fight with whoever it was in the group that I dated, and they'd hate my guts. They'd maybe accept the girl I dated back if I separate from her, but they'd reject me forever."

"Why is that so funny?" asked Seto, not amused.

"Because, I dunno, what you suggested just seems kind of impossible, considering the situation. Like, so impossible it's ridiculous."

"It never crosses your mind?" asked Seto. "Not even once?"

"I dunno. I'm just not interested in that kind of thing with those girls. I prefer how things are. I prefer that it doesn't go too far. I'm not interested in a relationship with any of them."

"You don't like girls, you mean?"

"That's not really what I mean."

Ryou thought about how to explain this to Seto without sounding like he was someone terrified of attachment to others. Fear wasn't the problem. Ryou cared very deeply for his friends, felt so close to them that he was sure if anything bad were to happen to them, he'd be devastated over it. It was just, having a girlfriend now would mean having one for the sake of it, and that simply wasn't something Ryou needed. They were teenagers, and teenagers didn't usually form the kind of serious relationship that Ryou hoped to have one day with another person. Because he was a teenager, Ryou knew a certain low expectation was automatically put on him and everyone he might choose to date, and he didn't want to waste time with it. Therefore, Ryou had resigned to wait for what he wanted, rather than rush impulsively into a relationship that would only serve to pass the time until graduation.

"Maybe my expectations are too high, but I don't see this high school as a place where I'm going to meet someone who I'm going to fall in love with," said Ryou at last. "I'm not going to be in school here for much longer, and I haven't known anyone around long enough to want to date them and have a relationship when it's most likely we'll have to separate in a few months. There isn't time left for that stuff, really."

"No-one's expecting you got get married in high school," said Seto. "You're allowed to like people and date them if you want, even if just for a few months."

"Then why don't you do that?" asked Ryou. "You're not really in a position to talk. Ryuuji makes up stories about you, and everyone latches on to that and acts like it's real because you've given them literally no other hints on your personal life. Ryuuji is their only lead. You never date anyone or like anyone, and you've been at Domino High much longer than I have."

"That's because I'm not allowed to," said Seto. Ryou frowned at the suggestion Seto Kaiba wasn't allowed to do something when Seto Kaiba so often did whatever the hell Seto Kaiba wished. "The rules I have to follow aren't the same as yours. I'm going to leave KaibaCorp to Mokuba and his family if anything happens to me. I won't have my own descendants. It will complicate things if we split the Kaiba family into branches, because we both own KaibaCorp, and KaibaCorp is too damn big. It's like the fucking Mongol empire at this point, and power won't transition easily when I'm gone. If I were to have my own descendants, and if they had any sort of proper ambition, they might try to have me gotten rid of as I get older, and then afterwards take the company from Mokuba."

"Wait, so you already distrust the future family _you don't even have_?" asked Ryou, gaping at Seto. He couldn't decide if he should laugh at this extreme paranoia or feel immensely sorry. He decided to try to make light of it, and asked, jokingly. "What if Mokuba's kids come after you?"

"It would be natural," admitted Seto, still totally serious. "They'd have a right to try. If they fight amongst each other, I don't really care. But I won't turn it into a feud between my family and Mokuba's. I don't want anyone feeling like they have the right to take the company from Mokuba, especially if I die early. In fact, if Ryuuji were a girl, he wouldn't be allowed to talk like he does about me, because I wouldn't want to cast doubt on the right of Mokuba and his descendants to inherent KaibaCorp."

With Seto's seriousness not letting up even the slightest, Ryou suddenly felt a bit uneasy. It was bizarre discussing the inheriting of corporations like they were feudal kingdoms, because it made the inevitability of Seto's death appear unnaturally close, as though Seto might kneel over tomorrow and leave his company to Mokuba far ahead of schedule. Naturally, questions of inheritance were things Seto had to consider, rich and powerful as he was, but it was odd how little interest he had in raising his own dynasty. History said everyone wanted a dynasty, didn't it? The solution of shrugging and saying everything went to Mokuba was almost lazy in its simplicity, like Seto had come up with it just to avoid a lot of paperwork once he reached old age. Mokuba was the heir, and that was it. If you had any other concerns about what KaibaCorp would become after Seto Kaiba, go fucking talk to Mokuba, because that was Mokuba's problem.

"You should be concerned now that people will think you like guys," said Seto matter-of-factly after a pause. "You've heard how Ryuuji Otogi talks about me. That joke of his will definitely affect you so long as we're friends. People might make excuses why you never have a girlfriend and yet are surrounded by girls."

"It's not that big a deal," said Ryou. This was said in a casual, relaxed tone as Ryou tried to impress on Seto how much of a problem it wasn't going to be. "I would be annoyed if people started following me around and bothering me, but it isn't so bad if they just think I'm gay, but otherwise leave me alone. Though, it's kind of stupid to assume everyone that's friends with a supposedly gay person is also secretly gay. That says a lot more about them than it does about me, I think."

"They'll bother you if they think you're involved with me," said Seto sternly. "Don't delude yourself on that."

Ryou became visibly flustered. "Why does Ryuuji say anything?" he said. He turned his half forgotten sandwich around in his hands. "They think you're involved with Ryuuji anyway. Why do you even let them think that when it's not even true?"

Seto didn't answer. He told Ryou that this was a topic for somewhere else, not al school during lunch when others might be eavesdropping. Ryou reminded Seto that Seto had brought the whole thing up first by asking Ryou about girls. Still, Ryou embraced the chance to change the subject, because the growing intimacy between him and Seto unnerved him. Talking about relationships and girls and descendants implied an openness that Ryou wasn't fully accustomed to. Ryou wondered if Seto spoke of these things with anyone else, if he ever had, or if Seto had always kept them to himself, because Mokuba was too young to understand, and Seto had no other outlet. That was probably why he'd asked Ryou about the girls. Who the hell else would he ask something like that? There was only Ryou. Ryou shouldn't have laughed at him for it.

Ryou began going over the details of the prospective chess team members who wanted to move up from the chess club ranks, and how he and Seto and Jounouchi should arrange another club tournament for the higher levels who wanted to prove themselves. Seto was obviously at ease with this kind of conversation and didn't deviate from it for the rest of the lunch break. 

The uncommonly lengthy amount of conversation between them soon devolved into a chess club administrative meeting instead of a more familiar, amicable chat over plates and a table. The transition was sudden, but warmly welcomed. Seto and Ryou were still working on relating to each other as friends without constantly falling back to recognizable, neutral roles dedicated to impersonal shoptalk concerning all things chess and the chess club. Such habits were hard to break.

Well, that, and Seto wasn't sure how far he could trust himself to get close to Ryou, his first experiment at having a friend. That was something Seto hadn't fully figured out yet. That was something it seemed only time itself could figure out.

###### Notes:

[1] I have no idea how rich Seto is. I can't decided even now. I think I put billionaire because that was just a much more ridiculously huge amount that millionaire, so I thought it was funnier. Like, why would a billionaire be going to what I kinda suspect looks like it might be the public high school anyway? And doesn't the phrase "child billionaire" just send a chill through you? Like, the economy is shit, and someone just gave a sixteen-year-old over a billion dollars worth of assets....  
[2]I don't know the difference between cabinets and cupboards. I think this is something dialectal, but it's been so long since I've spoken of that sort of thing with native English speakers, that I don't even remember how I used to distinguish between them except that cabinets are definitely the name for the ones in the kitchen. Outside the kitchen, I figure it's every man for himself.  
[2]I don't know if anyone was wondering, but the country that this fic takes places in is "anywhere there are huge cities I guess". I keep naming OC's in Japanese just because it would be weird to have all the main characters with Japanese names and then these random weirdo show up with names like Jose or Nabil or Brittany or Griffin K. Cranford. The Japanese names are less jarring, I think. BUT, the cities and stuff I name whatever comes to mind. For anyone curious: _Baraja_ is from Spanish, and it means deck of cards. _Roque_ (the café Ryou played chess in) is also from Spanish, and I've heard it as a name (like _"la casa de Tócame Roque"_ , or that little shit Roque in the series _El Internado_ ), but it's also an old word for rook used more before it became just _el torre_ (the tower). Castling is still called _el enroque_ (verb to castle: _enrocar_ ), though.


	24. Jerkface CEO Hires Local Boy as Friend

In spite of Seto avoiding the question of Ryuuji Otogi at lunch, he didn't hesitate to answer it in private the next day in the time between the end of Ryou's chess review lesson, and Ryou going home for the evening. Seto trusted their small office sanctuary, which was reserved for ascending to the upper echelons of junior chess playing renown, and perfectly cut off from the prying world outside. Here was one of the few places Seto could speak openly and breach topics that might be dangerously valuable if placed in the wrong hands.

"Someone called me at my office," said Seto, keeping his gaze fixed on Ryou. Looking away might've expressed discomfort, or a judgmental attitude, and it'd be easier for them if Ryou didn't get that impression from Seto. "They told me about a reporter who was developing a new angle in the story about me acquiring a chess student. That reporter had got from hearsay among your former classmates that you were in some way involved with a boy in your class for a short time at your old school. I suppose you can imagine the sort of story this reporter was thinking of selling about you and I. He'd interviewed people at your old school already, and then fabricated all the rest."

Ryou sat quietly in his seat. He knew who it was that the reporter had found out about, but it'd only been two weeks that Ryou and that person had gone around, acting like they were dating, before they'd got over the novelty and returned to being friends. No-one dated for keeps in seventh grade, dammit. It hadn't been a very big deal at the time.

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" asked Ryou after allowing appropriate time for the information to sink in some.

"I didn't think it concerned you, really," said Seto. The expression on Seto's face implied Seto didn't think it concerned Ryou all that much even now.

"But it was about me and my personal life," Ryou insisted. "How does that not concern me?"

"It wasn't about you," said Seto firmly. "It was only about you so far as you were related to me. Under normal circumstances, no-one in the world cares about rumors from your old school concerning who you might've dated, because you're just Ryou Bakura. You, by yourself, are nothing significant to anyone." Ryou grimaced. Clearly Seto had a gift for making a person feel truly valued. "The only reason the story was considered newsworthy at all was because you were working with me."

"But I didn't see anything about it in any articles," said Ryou, confused at first. Wisely, he became suspicious. "What did you do?" he asked Seto. He was a little scared of what the answer might be.

"I threatened the reporter through my people at the paper he was trying to publish in," said Seto. "He rightly decided with some pressuring that the story wasn't worth his career."

"Huh," was all Ryou could say.

"I was already beginning to collaborate with Ryuuji Otogi at the time, and so that's how this relates to your question this afternoon," continued Seto, assuming the detour over whether or not any of this had originally been Ryou's concern was gotten over. "He'd heard similar rumors about you from the same source the reporter had, because Otogi is a fucking busybody, and he asked me what I'd do about the whole thing. I knew the reporter wasn't an investigative genius by any means, and that anyone from your old class who saw you on TV might talk to someone later on, so, I took measures to make you less interesting. I didn't want public opinions on the matter to affect you, because I believed you'd stop studying chess under that kind of external pressure. Otogi said he'd help. I told him that he didn't need to bother. He 'helped' anyway, I guess. If you can call his kind of bullshit any sort of help to anyone."

"So you're telling me that Ryuuji's inventing a whole subtext of being in a gay relationship with you was originally my fault?" asked Ryou in some disbelief. He fidgeted with the long sleeve of his shirt, wrapping his fingers in it and then unraveling them. He felt strangely guilty.

"As much as anything Otogi does is anyone's fault, yes," admitted Seto. Ryou looked up at him.

"You seem oddly fine with it."

"It doesn't really bother me," said Seto. He didn't even shrug, it mattered so little. "I told you this afternoon it doesn't."

"I thought you were just trying to sound cool."

"No. I prepared for these kinds of rumors about me coming up eventually when I decided to leave no progeny," Seto reminded him.

Ryou frowned, considered the statement. "Progeny is the best word for that?"

"Progeniture," suggested Seto. "Issue. Heirs and assigns. ... _Scions_."

Ryou stared at Seto. "Is…that a joke?" he asked. But of course it was a joke. Seto Kaiba was one quite skilled in the use of a dictionary these days. Normally, Ryou would've appreciated this trait in a person. Right now, Ryou didn't.

"Well, then it would seem you've prepared for everything, haven't you?" asked Ryou, having devolved into weak, defensive sarcasm in his exasperation. "Is there anything else that doesn't concern me, yet is all about me, that you haven't told me yet?"

"Not that I recall."

"Are you sure?"

"Enough."

Ryou nodded and looked around the room quietly as he organized his thoughts. He believed he ought to apologize for something, but he couldn't decide what. Surely Ryou owed some kind of explanation to Seto for having inadvertently complicated things for Seto's public image, right?

"Okay. So, here's the thing before you assume," Ryou started, casting Seto a wary glance as he spoke, hoping to read out Seto's reaction, but also terrified it would be bad. "I'm kind of normal and just have crushes on people that come and go. I told you I don't date anyone, and that's basically true. I had a 'girlfriend' in kindergarten, I guess, though that stuff doesn't count, does it? But, like, the closest I ever got to dating someone, it was a guy. So, that story about me is true, and if anyone asks me about it, I won't lie and say that it isn't. But, nothing came from that so-called 'realtionship', and it was only two weeks. It was sort of to try it out because we were kind of each other's only options in our class, despite the fact that we were _exceedingly_ incompatible together, even as close friends. It was immature, really. It was just that kind of relatively innocent tinkering with relationships everyone tried back then. I think I was only 12 or 13. So, in short, I guess I want to confirm to you the rumor about me is true. But like, I was a _kid_ back then."

Seto didn't even hesitate to retort: "You're a kid now."

"You're my same age."

"And it doesn't matter what our ages are. Only the interesting story matters. The interesting story about you is: Why is Seto Kaiba friends with Ryou Bakura? That means, of course, that the interesting story about you, basically, _is me_. No-one cares about the reasons you did something. They only care to see how it affects me. They willfully _want it_ to affect me, to have some meaning that relates to me, to be less a story about Ryou Bakura and more a story about Seto Kaiba."

"What should I do, then?"

"Nothing. I just want you to keep that in mind. Anything anyone might ever say about you in the media is actually just another indirect way to talk about me, and you shouldn't worry too much about it. So long as you kept that in mind, it will be easier to deal with the increased attention you're bound to receive because of me. I'm not an easy person to be friends with. My importance will always overshadow yours."

Seto was not lying; Ryou knew that. Seto wasn't even exaggerating all that much, either. However, being constantly reminded how brief and inconsequential your entire existence really was in the perspective of the rest of the world could be hard to swallow. Sometimes, Ryou's mind felt especially blown by it all. The room they were sitting in wasn't just an office in the building where Seto worked; the whole damn room belonged to Seto. Everything in it was his. The whole building _belonged_ to him. Everything in the KaibaCorp Plaza surrounding them was Seto's. His employees worked for him, so they were his, also. Seto even had a claim to some percentage of Ryou as well, by publically regarding Ryou as his sole friend. Everything Seto owned became an extension of the larger entity, bigger than Ryou and Seto both, that was called Seto Kaiba, and never the other way around.

When you owned as impossibly much as Seto did, the world took notice of what you lacked, because counting all you didn't have suddenly became much more straightforward than counting all that you did. When you had no friends for literally years and then suddenly obtained one without a long preamble carefully arranged, step-by-step, in the public eye, that was a cause for suspicion. Ryou had previously been a nobody, a blip on the public radar that the investigative lens had never fully had the chance to focus on before he was swept away and replaced with the much more familiar and distinct Ryuuji Otogi. The only people, at the end of the day, who'd cared in a more lasting way about Ryou's appearance in relation to Seto Kaiba had been the sponsors of rival chess teams. They were the one's who'd caused such a fuss over Seto being a coach and opined that Seto should to step down from the position and leave the Domino High chess team alone.

Ryou wondered if he and Seto would have to come up with a reason for being friends eventually. In normal circumstances, you didn't need reasons to have friends; it was something that naturally happened in the course of your everyday life. Nothing that Seto Kaiba stood in the very center of ever constituted normal circumstances, however, and the nosy public would demand an explanation from him. Indeed, they'd feel entitled to it, like such regular, personal information about Seto's life required comment on by the masses and a lengthy few gossip column analyses dedicated to its investigation. Every newly obtained acquisition of Seto Kaiba's warranted a perfunctory amount of scrutiny following its revelation, and Ryou would be no exception to this rule.

Ryou told Seto that he wasn't going to mind the invasion of his privacy that would most like arise once the world found out he was Seto Kaiba's friend. Ryou had nothing to hide from anyone. Seto had merely scoffed in Ryou's face in response and told Ryou that it was impossible for Ryou to have any idea what he was prepared for, because without the rigorous training regimen Seto had undergone following his adoption into the Kaiba family, there was really no way to ready yourself for sudden fame.

The best Seto and Ryou could do was just be normal friends. Hiding anything like that would've been extremely suspicious and too much damn work. So, they acted normal, and they mostly spoke about chess because that was the most normal thing. Ryou had even witnessed a reporter hiding behind the fence at school get up directly and leave after listening for half an hour to Ryou and Seto prepare a lesson to explain to the chess team once and for all, and in much clearer words, why Ryuuji Otogi was so persistent with trying to talk them into playing 1. g3, and why they could feel confident in continuing to ignore him as they had wisely already been doing. Ryou'd already slightly suspected there might be a reporter around before seeing him, because, at the first mention of Ryuuji's name, there'd been a rustling sound in that direction like someone scrambling for a pen or some device to record the conversation. When the reporter finally rose up and left, Ryou had stared at him, stunned that the sound he'd heard hadn't been his imagination. Seto, on the other hand, hadn't even looked up from his notes.

Eventually, Seto figured they should try to be friends outside of school as well, otherwise their friendship wouldn't last past graduation. Seto literally told Ryou this, because Seto, too world-weary at a young age to believe such bullshit as friendship being forever, had been studying how to keep a friend after making one. Friendship could be temporal and heavily dependent on factors such as proximity and situational circumstances, which were things Seto wished to reduce the effects of. Seto simply didn't feel like going through the work of making any new friends any time soon, so naturally, he'd decided to be proactive in maintaining the one friendship he had.

Thus, they found themselves sitting together, among all the pieces of the world that Seto owned, in an arena at the northern edge of the city. The arena was relatively new and had built as the first installation on the urban-facing edge of a long plot of land where Seto dreamed of erecting the future Kaiba Capital of all the world's Kaiba Lands. The arena had already served as an event location for various KaibaCorp sponsored game competitions, as well as a few concerts and a convention. Currently underway there was a mid-level chess tournament with a weighty cash prize, which Seto considered his way of stimulating the upcoming chess talent in the region by providing winning players income to live off of while devoting their time to improving at chess. He'd invited Ryou to watch some of the tournament with him on its second day, when press coverage would be at its lowest. Ryou had accepted, needing a break from preparing for the high school chess team's next competition.

_[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Treat this next part like the science bullshit you hear in zombie movies, okay? Great.]_

"So, that guy's opponent opened with a knight on f3, and he put a knight on c6. Huh," said Ryou thoughtfully as he looked out the window of the VIP viewing lounge above the tournament floor. It was very hard to see anything without binoculars, but he could read the moves on a panel against the wall.

"It depends what he thinks he's doing," said Seto. He was pretty sure Ryou was the only person in the entire room who was paying much attention to any of the matches. Seto didn't mind it, as chess was what he preferred to talk about with Ryou. He could look Ryou directly in the face and rattle off opinions and salient points without a twinge of strange feeling running through him as it occasionally did when more personal topics came up.

"Maybe he's just mirroring the opponent, or defending in case the opponent wants to move a pawn to d4," said Ryou, trying to guess before the next move was made and told him directly what the case would be. "Maybe he thinks he's putting a threat on e5 so he can move a pawn up later. Maybe he thinks he's fighting for the center."

"Or maybe he's never played against a knight on f3 before."

"And if the response to the knight on c6 is that the opponent moves a pawn to d4? Black wouldn't take it, right? It can only gain black a pawn, while white can gain a knight."

"White _will_ gain a knight. Black's knight would be undefended. There'd be little reason not to capture it."

"Black can't do e5, either, because best case scenario would be white gains black's pawn with theirs, and then black just stares at it, because if black takes the white pawn with its knight, then white will naturally take black's knight after, and now black is even worse off than before because black's lost a pawn and a knight.""

"Black's queen can take white's knight. It wouldn't be defended on e5, and it will be threatening two of black's pawns anyway. That's a bit early to have out the queen, but then both players will have both lost equal material. White will still be a move ahead, though, so white won't have much trouble driving black's queen back."

"Ultimately, it will just be a waste of time to respond to the white pawn on d4 with a black pawn on e5. Black hasn't accomplished anything," said Ryou with a serious, critical expression on his face that made Seto want to laugh at him. "Instead of a black pawn to e5, then a pawn on d5? Or what about f6 to put more defense on the e5 square before moving forward?"

"Assuming white won't move their pawn to d5 in the meantime and threaten black's knight on c6."

"Oh yeah."

"Yeah."

"And of course," said Ryou glancing out the window again, "now the white player has just played the pawn on d4. Oh well. I think I'd have chosen to put a knight on f6 as my first response over putting a knight on c6 anyway."

"I figured you'd go with the noncommittal choice," said Seto, nodding. "You'd want to see what white's planning first, and then respond to that."

Ryou nodded, because he knew this to be true. A voice inside him told him he should be taking more of a break right now, even though he was surrounded by chess, so he leaned back in his seat to watch the people milling about the half-full lounge. Most people were talking together and taking alcoholic looking drinks from trays carried by waiting staff. Ryou was surprised he and Seto had been allowed into this lounge, what with them being underage when there was alcohol freely available. Seto had told Ryou in much fewer words the exact same thing Ryuuji had told Ryou: When you were rich and famous, and especially if you owned the entire arena, no-one stopped you from going anywhere you wanted to go.

Ryou saw that the crowd around them had grown thicker in the past twenty minutes since they'd arrived. It'd been obvious when they entered the lounge that no-one had expected Seto Kaiba to make an appearance between the opening of the tournament and the close. They'd called friends and gossiped over it, naturally, likely mentioning the pale boy they recognized from TV as accompanying Seto as well in Seto's unanticipated visit. No-one really bothered them directly, however. A few people, most of them mangers of some sort within KaibaCorp, greeted Seto in turns and chatted with him a few minutes about business concerns and departments which Ryou knew nothing about and didn't care to learn. No-one had asked about Ryou being there. That would've been too much like asking Seto about his personal life, and that was something that was simply not done between Seto and his corporate underlings.

Ryou asked Seto about the prizes for the tournament, and receive for it a joke that the only thing left that could motivate Ryou to play chess would be cash prizes. For a few minutes, Seto refused to tell him, pretending that he was protecting Ryou from his own greed and saying Ryou should play for the love of the game and not something as base and shallow as pure monetary gain. Ryou told Seto that this was easy for Seto to say, because Seto didn't need to win money. Seto scoffed and finally told Ryou the cash prize amounts. Ryou nearly toppled over from sticker shock upon hearing the compensation for only third place. In that case, on second thought, maybe he should play for the money.

Some newly arrived businessman distracted Seto for longer than normal with a conversation about problems going on in a KaibaCorp branch headquarters in Italy. Ryou separated himself from the conversation and moved to the window, where he watched the matches unfold on the stadium floor below. He started at the screen where results were posted, and lamented the fact that chess was hardly a spectator sport at this level and with this slow of a rate of play. Ryou then left the room to find a bathroom, because the lounge bathrooms he could see were all occupied.

Inside a common bathroom down the hall from the lounge, Ryou met a tired reporter, who complained to Ryou conversationally that his editor had told him to go to the VIP viewing lounge right away and try to find out if Seto Kaiba was really there and why he'd come today when no-one had been expecting him. The reporter had been hoping to relax in his hotel room and head over to report on the day's results after the end of the rounds, but now Seto Kaiba had shown up. He figured it was becoming a race, that word had got out and now every media outlet was trying to get someone in proximity to Seto just in case he did or said anything that could be published. Seto Kaiba was the kind of person who couldn't so much as blow his nose without an entire editorial appearing online thirty minutes later speculating over whether he'd contracted the avian flu while on a business trip to mainland Asia.

Ryou listened politely and hoped the reporter the best, rightfully figuring out that the reporter had no idea who Ryou was. When Ryou headed to the lounge after him a few minutes later, he waved in acknowledgement when the man caught his eye. The reporter was left gaping when Ryou took his seat at the same sofa as Seto and asked him if white or black had won the match they'd commented on earlier. Seto glanced at the results on his tablet computer and told him white had won. Black had never been able to developed a strong enough position.

"There's a lot of people here now," said Ryou, inclining his head slightly towards the rest of the room. Seto glared openly around them, ruining Ryou's attempt at being discreet.

"I'm not surprised," said Seto. "There are probably reporters outside the door. There might even be a few higher ranking members of the media in here already, orbiting around to catch bits of the conversation between us."

"Why? You even can't watch a tournament you're paying for without it getting put in a paper?" asked Ryou.

"If anything of note happens to me, the reporters will get in trouble for not being the first ones on the scene," said Seto, pointing to the door. "The cameras will be out in seconds."

"I met a reporter on the way to the bathroom and wished him luck in getting to talk to you," said Ryou. Seto, as with all things cruelly ironic, laughed darkly at this. He wanted to know which reporter it had been, and Ryou told him. Seto then made a point to look the man in the face every time the door opened and to stare him down unblinkingly, until the man finally cringed and backed away from the door. Ryou, meanwhile, sighed and told Seto to not be a dick. Seto told Ryou that Ryou had been more of a dick, wishing the reporter luck like Ryou didn't fucking know any better. The guy probably felt like shit right now for not realizing he'd known Ryou's face all along.

"Are you going to tell them who I am?" asked Ryou curiously. "It's one thing to be friends at school, but…."

"Any of them with half a brain ought to know who you are already," said Seto. "Or, they've looked you up by now, at any rate. There might be a headline on it already: 'Seto Kaiba spotted at chess tournament with classmate' or 'Seto Kaiba, caught confabbing with ex-pupil' or better yet, 'Seto Kaiba hires local schoolboy as friend'. That, or they'll call you a mysterious stranger, and then reveal who you are in the article so it sounds like they've made some kind of actual revelation, and then because you're so fucking 'mysterious', they'll wonder how things are going between Ryuuji Otogi and I, and if this isn't some kind of poorly planned tryst. Like I'm a fucking idiot who can't do a tryst properly."

Ryou marveled at this a moment, only then realizing, as he saw it happening right in front of him, exactly how much publicity Seto had apparently protected Ryou from by making their chess lessons a secret. Ryou wondered if, with so much pressure, he really would've been able to continue chess practice, especially if strangers were insinuating things about him and Seto that were not true. Things that were so far from true that Ryou had trouble envisioning then even in his wildest flights of imagination.

Seto and Ryou together, like the way people thought Seto and Ryuuji might be together was, well…. The thought was so utterly ludicrous that Ryou had barely entertained it, even for the most fleeting of moments. Sure, Seto was conventionally attractive in a way that appealed to Ryou as well as maybe half the entire planet, but Ryou was not one prone to dreaming the impossible dream. Liking other guys didn't mean, as some people ignorantly seemed to believe, that you were secretly in love with every good-looking man you knew. Ryou knew better (or endeavored to know better) than to set himself up for that kind of disappointment in his life. There'd been no way having a crush on the asshole who'd taught him chess would've ended well for Ryou. Ryou wasn't masochistic. And anyway, Ryou wasn't looking for that kind of thing at this stage in his life. He'd already said as much to Seto, and would repeat as much to anyone who might ask.

Unwisely, however, Ryou allowed himself a short moment to really appreciate how great Seto looked. It wasn't for long. He quickly stopped himself and tried to think of something else as a distraction. This here, Ryou saw, was not a road Ryou should be heading down, not if he and Seto were to be friends. It wasn't smart to develop an attraction to someone you were friends with, because that would be equivalent opening wide a door you couldn't shut, and that door led to nothing but misfortune and suffering and a tremendous confusion of feelings. Even if Ryou had been delusional enough to believe he had the right or even something resembling a chance, aiming for Seto Kaiba of all people was aiming way too damn high. Like, sure, people always said dream big, but that didn't give you permission to be a total idiot in your aspirations.

This all did nothing to change the fact that Seto was a very pretty, well-dressed and exceptionally groomed man. When you stopped taking his familiar face for granted, you realized Seto look much more like someone you'd see on TV and never know in real life. Ryou shifted uncomfortably in his seat and felt trapped, caged in suddenly by his own reckless idiocy and trailing off of thoughts he didn't, wouldn't, complete. He cleared his throat and asked Seto if Seto had a chessboard. Seto did. Ryou accepted it from him and set it up, opening with 1. Nf3…Nf6, then progressing to…what exactly? Move out the pawn and the bishop to castle kingside? Move the game to the center with 2. d4? He watched the board quietly for a moment, focusing on it with all of his attention, considering the options for both sides. The strenuous mental exercise and the studious forgetfulness this would evolve into were far preferable to quietly squelching stray thoughts about Seto Kaiba's physical attractiveness using sheer willpower alone.

Seto reached out unexpectedly then and moved the black knight at f6 back onto its starting square. He moved a black pawn to d5 instead, and then he moved a white pawn to c4. He told Ryou to take his turn.

"Wouldn't want you to get complacent," said Seto with a sneer as Ryou stared at the board, unable to hide his displeasure.

"Why?" asked Ryou, a bit of a sulk coming out in his tone.

"I'm here to make sure you don't ever get too comfortable."

Ryou shook his head. Seto had no idea how right he was….

They didn't stay for all the day's rounds at the tournament. Once Seto had finished delivering his impromptu summary of the various common responses to 1. Nf3 to Ryou, he determined they were done for the day and notified his attendants that he was prepared to leave and that they should ready themselves at the door so Seto could leave with minimal impediment from the reporters outside. He said to Ryou that Ryou could stay and watch the tournament if Ryou wanted, but Ryou declined. The only person Ryou knew there was Seto, and Ryou wasn't sure he wanted to hear what everyone might have to say to him once Seto was gone, as Ryou was sure they'd descend upon him at once. He left with Seto, walking with him rather than following after. This was one of the few perks of being Seto's established friend: Seto didn't subconsciously try to beat you to be the first to pass through every single doorway you came across.

Ryou was almost out of the building when he spotted the reporter from the bathroom. At first, Ryou tried to act like he hadn't seen him, because Ryou felt bad for being so inadvertently cruel to him before. Seto, however, also saw the reporter, and told Ryou to call the man over. Ryou did as Seto asked, but quietly hoped Seto wasn't about to be a total ass to this stranger.

"Ryou told me you were hoping to run into me," said Seto. His expression was stern, but Ryou knew that inside, just under the surface, Seto's face was already plastered with an ugly, arrogant sneer. Ryou was not sure he wanted to watch what proceeded. If possible, he was starting to feel even worse than before.

"Um, sure," said the man, fumbling for a pad of paper in his satchel. "Um, I guess I want to know why you came to the tournament today?"

"Can't I watch my own damn tournament?" asked Seto. The man turned a shade of crimson. Ryou might've been redder than he was.

"Is there any particular reason you visited today? Any player you were interested in seeing compete? Planning to take on any future pupils?" asked the reporter. Ryou was surprised at this man's dedication to keeping asking questions, even when mortified.

"I came here to watch some chess at my leisure with my friend," said Seto. From literally anyone else on the entire planet, this would've been an appropriately evasive answer, accepted without much further analysis by any reporter. However, the answer had come from Seto Kaiba, which immediately caused the reporter to look at Ryou with sudden interest, and perhaps a little judgment. He seemed to definitely know who Ryou was now.

"Wasn't Ryou Bakura a pupil of yours once?" asked the reporter.

"Correct."

"And where's your current pupil, Ryuuji Otogi? Do you… Will you be bringing him to watch the finals?"

"Ryuuji Otogi is wherever the fuck he wants to be. I'm not his guardian," said Seto. "If he wants to see the finals, he can buy a ticket to do so."

"I see," said the reporter. He was red enough now that Ryou imagined he could feel the heat radiating off of him. "One more question…."

"I'll hold you to that," warned Seto.

"Oh…yes, just one more," said the reporter in agreement. "How long have you and Ryou Bakura been…friends? Like, have you always hung out at school, or is this a recent development?"

"We know each other from school. He's a friend of Yuugi Mutou and vice president of the Domino High chess club, so you could say we run in related circles. He's the star player on the school chess team, as well. You can see why he'd be interested in a chess tournament, I presume?"

"Oh yes," the reporter assured Seto eagerly. "Just hanging out. Two friends. Totally normal reason to be here. Will you be bringing Ryou Bakura to watch the finals?"

"You said one question," said Seto, and with a wave of his hand, the reporter was sundered from him and Ryou by two stoic assistants in suits and sunglasses, who then followed Seto and Ryou the rest of the way out the door.

"I guess you weren't more of a jerk than normal," said Ryou, trying to look over his shoulder at the reporter, but only meeting the ties and lapels of the much taller assistants behind him.

"I was being generous," said Seto. "When you're rich and famous, generous is one of the few things you can be to people who haven't earned a damn thing from you."

"Well, I feel a little better now."

"About what?"

"About being a jerk to that man in the bathroom."

"Next time, wait for one of the lounge bathrooms or ask one of my assistants what to do," said Seto. He gestured for Ryou to get into his car as an assistant rushed forward to open the further passenger door for Ryou. "And get used to people thinking you're a jerk," Seto added as they buckled their seats. "They'll always find more reasons to criticize you than anything else. No-one cares how great a guy you might be. They'll never get to know you or anything. You're just my friend."

"And the only interesting thing about me is you," repeated Ryou, like he was reciting it from a book. Seto smirked and pat Ryou's shoulder approvingly.

"Damn right," said Seto and brought his hand back to his side before he overdid it. The more time he spent with Ryou, the easier it got to not be too weird about touching him in whatever way, shape or form was necessary to demonstrate his feelings of camaraderie. The dictionary hadn't yet provided Seto with an adequate definition that surmised everything going on inside of him. Perhaps friendship as an older teen was vastly different from the vague, distant memory of the friendships he'd had as a child, before he'd been a Kaiba.

Seto stretched his hand wide and then clenched it into a fist on his lap, as though his fingers were cramped from too many hours spent typing. He kept his eyes trained to the city passing by out the window. Ryou did likewise out his own window, and a familiar, confortable silence settled between them in which neither of them felt it was truly necessary to speak.

###### Notes:

None in the story. I'm not here to teach you about 1. Nf3 or the "Réti" opening.... Ugh. I just had to make Ryou try out flanked openings, and now I'm suffering, and I hate myself. You all get to suffer with me. I literally have a chessboard next to me while editing this chapter, just to double check, and I'm still pretty sure I've fucked something up.  
Algebraic Notation Note: Okay, so the "1." indicates the first move of the turn, which is obviously White's. To signify Black's move, you put an ellipsis between the names of the squares and the piece that moved. So "1. Nf3...Nf6" means in the first turn White moved a knight to square f3, and Black responded by moving a knight to f6. The next turn would start with "2." with the rest following numbers and letters indicating what moved where, and that's all I'm getting into here.


	25. And Now Ryou Likes Seto, Too

Apparently, Seto Kaiba didn't realize that four thirty in the morning was way too damn early to call people who, unlike him, operated under regular human hours. Ryou had answered the call anyway, bleary-eyed and voice choked by the fog of sleep that still encased him. Ryou hadn't even been sure who was calling him at first, and had assumed it might be his father. Sometimes his father called at strange hours when he couldn't sleep and needed someone to listen to him list every problem and failure in his life that was keeping him up. Ryou never had any sensible, good solutions to offer the man, but Ryou always had a patient ear.

Seto, however, had called not for any emergency or even for a late night chat, but rather with the answer to a chess problem he'd forgot to give Ryou two days ago. Ryou stared into the darkness at the edges of his room, the little streams of light around the window blinds and the hazy shapes of his bedroom furniture, and on his face rested one of the most incredulous looks a person straddling the line between the world of sleep and wakefulness could adequately be said to throw into the empty night. Seto, the intended recipient of this look, yet half a city too far away to know it had even been cast, kept on talking. He asked if Ryou had paper to write everything down.

Ryou didn't budge. He reminded Seto of the time.

Seto didn't see the problem. Seto always got up at 4:00am to get ready for school. In fact, Seto held scheduled office hours from four thirty to seven in the morning for emergencies and to facilitate communications with offices overseas. Upon hearing this, Ryou reminded Seto that Ryou didn't run a gigantic corporation, so, that meant Ryou got up at six forty-five like normal people. Seto was not normal people. Seto was Seto Kaiba.

Seto had been unconcerned and said that while he'd keep that in mind in the future, the important thing now was that Ryou had to write this chess problem down, because the chess team had a tournament tomorrow, and Ryou had to make sure the better players knew how to use a Sicilian Defense. Ten minutes later, Ryou was sat at his desk, in his pyjamas, scribbling on the blank side of a leaflet a girl had given him advertising the school talent show. She was going to be playing the clarinet or the oboe, and she really wanted Ryou to be there to cheer her on. He'd told her he'd be there. She'd asked if Seto would come too, because she was scared that that kind of pressure might make her mess up. Ryou promised to tell Seto that Seto couldn't go to the talent show; he'd make all the contestants too nervous sitting there, and the show would subsequently suck.

"…You promote to the necessary knight, and there you go. Checkmate," said Seto, finished at last.

Ryou wrote down "prom knight checkmate", silently stared at it for a moment, and then erased it to write out the entire sentence.

"Read it back to me so I know you have it right."

Ryou mimed hitting his head against the table in tired exasperation. Seto asked him what was taking so long; did Ryou drop his notes? Ryou cleared his throat and began to read, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. The hour of four was too early in the morning to feel anything. Seto Kaiba seemed to live his life like it was perpetually four in the morning, so it was no wonder why Seto was always in such a bad mood.

"Also," added Ryou in the same breath he'd used to repeat the checkmate back, "you can't go to the school talent show because you scared people."

There was a slight moment of hesitation before Seto asked, "Uh…what?"

"I was told to tell you that on Monday, but I forgot. I didn't think you'd go anyway, so yeah."

"I didn't even know there was a stupid talent show."

"Well, everyone would really like it if you didn't go. I got a text saying 'please please please please please please please remember to tell Seto Kaiba not to go to the talent show' like three hours ago. That's a lot of please's. They seem pretty serious."

"Is that all?" asked Seto, his voice annoyed like Ryou was the one keeping _him_ up and wasting _his_ time, and not the other way around.

"I mean, I might've left out a please, but essentially, yeah, that's all."

Seto hung up without saying goodbye, and Ryou didn't even notice or mind it too much. Ryou's mission had been completed, and sleep was fast approaching once more. He laid back in bed and shut his eyes, ready to drift off into dreams.

However, sleep stopped short at the door and went no further. Ryou tossed and turned, trying to find it, but it couldn't be found. He kept hearing in his ear Seto's voice in the phone, intruding, so incongruous and faintly unwelcomed in Ryou's now silent bedroom. It had been there just now, there in the dark with Ryou. And Seto'd been right there with it, also with Ryou, at some weird distance just out of Ryou's reach and yet right in his ear, the voice rousing Ryou from sleep with its call on the phone and now keeping Ryou awake with its echo in his mind.

Ryou sighed and rose from his bed to get ready for school two hours early. He suspected he probably had a crush on Seto Kaiba now. Awesome. He felt absolutely terrible.

The first thing Ryou was worried about when he arrived at school a few hours later was that his new status of crushing after Seto Kaiba would be plainly obvious to everyone who saw him, like it had been tattooed onto his face in the night. Things seemed pretty much normal, though. Seto was absent, which helped. In fact, when Ryou had entered the classroom and seen the empty corner desk, he'd muttered a small "thank you" to whatever celestial deity was looking out for him so benevolently in his time of need.

As first period happened around him, Ryou thought of Seto and supposed the worst part of having a crush on Seto was the devastating sense of betrayal that consumed him from his toes to the tips of his giant mane of hair. Ryou was Seto Kaiba's only friend, and Ryou was messing it up big time. Just because Seto had decided not to voluntarily contribute to the miracle of life didn't mean he wasn't attracted to girls. Creepy and weird as it was to think about in clearly defined words, maybe the perfect, totally sterile woman of Seto's dreams was out there, somewhere, waiting for Seto to marry and never have kids with her. That might be what happened, right? Love didn't equal children. Love was more than a household and the propagation of the species. Seto could still totally fall in love with a woman so long as he could trust her uterus not to doom him to a sudden succession quagmire.

Ryou had to be the worst friend ever. For the sake of the still young friendship between them, and to ensure that Seto didn't suffer the fickle winds of chance that constituted Ryou's raging teenage hormones, Ryou decided he wouldn't tell Seto a damn thing. Crushes were like hit songs, they came on strong and inescapable, but eventually they overstayed the welcome and were phased out of airplay. From then on, they rose up only at random intervals, not lasting for long. A crush was not the end of the world. A crush could be gotten over. Ryou would just have to make sure he was never, ever tempted to go beyond that, or wish so strongly to go beyond to the point where it would ruin the friendship. Hope would not be lost so long as Ryou could keep himself under control.

The next night Ryou spent staring at the ceiling, willing his phone to ring and Seto's voice to be there with him. The ridiculous, dramatic thinking that was so common in the small, restless hours of morning overwhelmed Ryou as he lay in his room. Soon, it wasn't just the childish crush on Seto Kaiba keeping him awake, but his very real fear that this lack of sleep would impact him negatively tomorrow in the tournament with the chess team. It would be the seventh competition they'd played in together, and Ryou was still the most winning player they had. The team's reputation was on Ryou's shoulders, because Ryou was also helping to coach and organize everyone. Ryou was Seto's personal liaison, his eyes and ears and fount of chessic knowledge to be passed down to the team. Ryou couldn't let the team down. He couldn't let Seto down. He needed to _sleep_.

Ryou had been able to sleep a few hours at last, and then later on the two-hour bus ride to the tournament. Jounouchi seemed concerned, having never seen Ryou so exhausted before. He was considerate and treated Ryou delicately, more out of confusion and alarm than any real knowledge of how to deal with someone in Ryou's condition. He reminded Ryou that Ryou didn't need to win, just in case Ryou was pushing himself too hard. Ryou needed his points and his rating, and the rating didn't have to be all that great. No pressure.

In spite of himself and the weights pulling down on his eyelids, Ryou wasn't too bad off competitively. It was hard to feel anything toward his opponent when he was exhausted and dull inside. Ryou didn't immediately fall apart in his play as he struggled against his drowsiness, but there was definitely a lag in his decisions. He committed more than a few blunders, because it was so hard to think his moves over when his mind was full of so much fog. The matches seemed far away, unimportant, no more real than dreams he had to physically sit through. He didn't win his section. He wasn't even very close. He got fourth, and fourth was practically nothing.

Naturally, it was only when one was under-preforming that the world suddenly decided to look over and pay attention. A reporter approached Ryou when the awards ceremony was over and congratulated him on fourth place. Ryou, not expecting the woman to appear so suddenly, choked on a yawn he hadn't had sufficient time to stifle. He wasn't very sure what to do in this situation. Seto had suggested Ryou call Seto or Seto's secretary if anyone bothered him, but Ryou wasn't totally sure he was being bothered right now. He supposed that would depend on the line of questioning to follow.

"I'm sorry it's not a great result," said Ryou after the reporter congratulated him. "I'm under the weather. It's a shame having driven two hours here for this."

"Fourth place was a great result considering the level of your competition," said the reporter with an odd sort of reassurance in her voice. This didn't seem to have been a part of her script. She hadn't expected Ryou to converse with her so casually right away. Didn't he realize she was a reporter? That anything he said might end up in print? Ryou told her he didn't know much about the competition there, because he didn't follow the rankings very closely. These days he was focused more on helping the team rather than competing for only himself. Was there anything in particular she'd wanted to ask him? He had a few paperwork related errands to run before leaving.

"Are you really friends with Seto Kaiba?" the reporter asked.

"Yes, I am," said Ryou brightly and smiled at her. He then excused himself and left to make sure the team was together and heading for the bus.

When the team arrived back in Domino two hours later, the same reporter was waiting for Ryou outside the parking lot. He greeted her politely as he passed on his way to a bus stop to start his journey home. The reporter followed him, and he wondered if perhaps now was a good time to call Seto's secretary for back up. He decided that if she followed him into the bus, he certainly would.

"Do you want to ask me about myself, or about Seto?" asked Ryou when the reporter, albeit awkwardly, followed him under the bus stop shelter. She didn't seem much like the normal, seasoned veterans of her trade that hid in trees or eavesdropped from adjoining tables in public. Ryou wondered if she'd ever interviewed someone in the field before.

"You'll really answer some questions?" asked the reporter, amazed.

"It will depend on the questions," said Ryou with a shrug. "According to the monitor at this stop, my bus will be here in twelve minutes. That's a long, boring time to wait. So, I guess you have 12 minutes."

"In that case, my questions are about Seto Kaiba."

Ryou nodded, feelings hurt but still relieved that he didn't have to talk about himself too much. Ryou wasn't sure what to say about himself. Anything he said might be etched in stone and irreversible, and that was more than a little daunting. Seto Kaiba, however, was a topic he knew well enough as a third party, because until recently, he'd been among the ignorant public who only knew of Seto Kaiba what Seto Kaiba wanted them to know. Ryou felt staying within that familiar narrative wouldn't be hard for him.

"Am I supposed to be an expert on the guy?" asked Ryou with genuine curiosity. "Am I considered an authority on Seto Kaiba now?"

"You're his best friend," said the reporter.

Ryou was about to tell her that he wasn't Seto's best friend, but stopped when he realized being Seto's _only_ friend perhaps automatically qualified him as the best one, too.

"Well," said Ryou apologetically, "for being Seto's friend," he intentionally refrained from calling himself the best anyway, "I guess I can tell you all about his chess game. I'm not sure I know much more about him than that."

"Actually, this is related to chess," said the reporter.

This piqued Ryou's curiosity, and he allowed himself to relax a little. He hadn't expected a reporter to ask him about Seto Kaiba _and_ chess. This might just be the easiest interview ever. "Go for it," he said.

"Okay, I've got a theory that Seto Kaiba and his pupil, Ryuuji Otogi, aren't dating," said the reporter. Ryou was a bit crestfallen, as Ryuuji and Seto didn't exactly count as a conversation about chess to him. It was gossip about people who occasionally played chess. Those weren't the same thing. "My editor doesn't believe me," the reporter continued, "but I've heard from sources that Ryuuji Otogi isn't actually in a relationship with Seto Kaiba. They're just drumming up cheap publicity."

"Huh. That's not really about chess," Ryou pointed out sadly, making no effort to conceal his disappointment.

"Well, I mean, you might know if they're actually close," said the reporter. "Maybe Kaiba has told you something? It's a common opinion that Otogi might just be pulling one over on the press for drama. You're in a position to confirm or deny that for people."

Ryou looked over at the reporter, catching her eye. "Do you know," he asked her directly, "that I'm actually friends with Ryuuji Otogi _as well as_ Seto Kaiba?"

"I know both of you are friends of Yuugi Mutou," said the reporter. There was a growing touch of apprehension in her voice as she tried to puzzle the situation between her and Ryou out. This wasn't so much an interview as it had become a strange sort of conversation between them, and she was having trouble understanding the power dynamic. It was hard to tell who had more questions for whom, really. The reporter was trying to extract information for a story from Ryou while, at the same time, Ryou was trying to get a feel for how the media perceived him and his situation through her. Both wished to obtain something from the other, and it perturbed her more than Ryou, because Ryou wasn't as familiar as she was with the normal interviewer and interviewee status quo.

"I could probably tell you exactly what's going on with them," said Ryou, shrugging and looking away at last to check the time remaining until the bus arrived.

"Will you?" asked the reporter hopefully. It was something she'd never uttered during an interview in her entire life. Ryou turned back around from checking the time and beamed at her.

"Sure," said Ryou. The woman breathed easier, not aware until then that she'd been waiting with bated breath for Ryou's answer. "You're right," Ryou told her. "They aren't together. Ryuuji just has an awful sense of humor."

The reporter stared at him, stunned at how forthcoming with all of this Ryou was. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice rising a little in pitch with her incredulity. "Or, are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?"

"I'm not joking," said Ryou, smiling again to reassure her as he spoke. "Knowing them," except now he was lying, "I imagine they have some kind of wager going on." Ryou knew she would take this as a hint at the real situation. "It's not really cheap publicity, more as it's Ryuuji just playing a sort of weird game."

"And why did Kaiba accept? What did they wager?" asked the reporter, typing the notes down to a cacophony of frantic clicks on her unmuted phone.

"I dunno," said Ryou with a shrug as the bus appeared around the corner a few blocks down. "Probably something stupid. Seto's more about the personal challenge than the stakes."

"More about the personal challenge than the stakes…that's not bad," said the reporter, frowning down at her notes appreciatively. "Can I quote you on that?"

"You can have it," said Ryou. "Naturally, you can put me as your source and stuff if you need to. But, just don't quote me. Quotes get taken out of context. I'm not sure I'm ready to be quoted on anything yet."

"Definitely. Thank you so much," said the reporter as Ryou signaled the bus to stop and moved to the curb in preparation to board.

"I can't answer any more questions," said Ryou as the door swished opened. "Have a good day."

"You, too," said the reporter happily and waving like they were two friends taking leave of each other. Ryou supposed he was the master of making friends. He'd even conquered Seto Kaiba, the friendless and cruel. When Ryou died, they should put that on his tombstone: "Ryou Bakura, _the best_ friend".

Assuming, of course, he didn't ruin everything by nursing a sudden, unexpected schoolboy crush on Seto Kaiba that would lead him on the path to an early grave lined with chronic stress ulcers and the life-shortening strain of sustained anxiety in Seto's overbearing presence.

Ryou sighed softly and moved down the aisle. He took a seat near the back door and pulled his phone from his pocket. There was a rattle and a crash as one of Seto's travel chess sets fell from Ryou's bag. Luckily, it didn't pop open, though the pieces were in little pouches anyway and wouldn't have spilt. Ryou picked the case up and inspected it for damage. Not really thinking, he opened it and looked inside. There was a tiny piece of paper in between the pouches for the white and black pieces. It had been folded way too many times and was straining to open. Ryou plucked it out and closed the case before replacing it in his bag and snapping shut the opening of the pocket it had fallen from.

Ryou unfolded the paper. It was a small sheet from a pocket agenda Seto carried with him in case his phone broke or was out of reach, and he couldn't check his appointments. Most of the dates recorded in it were written in his secretary's handwriting unless they were spontaneous and had to be saved by Seto himself in the moment. The day from which this paper had been pulled had been mostly empty, though. Seto had found it and used it to copy down the notation for the King's Indian Attack, which was a common opening position that could be easy for some of the chess team to use. Ryou hadn't been fast or confident enough in reciting it, as he often forgot the names of openings, so Seto had made the decision to write it down for him in case he forgot about it later. Ryou had been annoyed, because he'd known what the opening was after the first two moves, but Seto had insisted on jotting it down it for him, if only to make Seto himself feel better about the fact Ryou hadn't known it immediately.

Now, Ryou read over the slip, remembering with acute attention to detail the image of Seto leaning over to write the notations down after waving Ryou away when Ryou had complained it wasn't necessary. Seto'd forced Ryou to take the paper, fold it, and place it in the travel case so that Ryou wouldn't lose it. Bitterly, Ryou had folded the paper repeatedly, as though by folding it to miniscule proportions, an infinite number of times, it could be made to cease existing entirely. Seto had called Ryou insolent, and a second later there'd been a message on Ryou's phone from Seto with the exact same notations written down there as well. Seto had laughed at the expression Ryou made when Ryou saw the message. Ryou observed that Seto only ever seemed to laugh when he causing another person grief.

Ryou's thumb now traced the familiar handwriting, written by the familiar hands, the familiar fingers long and tapering to manicured points. Seto was always careful about the appearance of his hands. A lot of attention was placed on such a detail when you were always drawing cards and moving pieces across a board on television. Ryou's own hands weren't nearly so well maintained, though they weren't hideous or gangrenous or anything like that. There were a couple hangnails that looked more painful than they were, and his nails weren't ever filed after he cut them.

Ryou wondered what Seto had thought, if anything at all, about having to look at Ryou's painfully average hands for days upon weeks upon months at a time, while Seto's own hands never changed. Seto's hands were eternal, held to a standard and kept there, while Ryou's dried and softened with the weather, the nails growing long and then cut short. You could use the length of Ryou's nails like the cycles of the moon to track the progression of time, the same with Ryou's hair and the blemishes on his face that came and went on their own due course.

And throughout it all, Seto Kaiba remained forever the same. Money didn't just buy financial security. It bought the security that nothing about you ever needed to change, to morph into any state less than that of apparent perfection. The only way Seto ever changed was with fashion, which made him more like a face in a magazine, always perfectly groomed, that simply updated itself for the new season but always remained recognizable, always still the same Seto Kaiba without a hair out of place.

Seto Kaiba wasn't a person in the same sense as everyone else, but a representation of a brand. He was a living, breathing mascot of his own company and his vision for a world blanketed with the best of game technology. And this was the not-a-person Ryou had a crush on now, because Ryou believe that beneath it all, there was a person. This person had tried his best to train Ryou, Ryou the terrible student, to play a game Ryou would never, ever master. This person respected how far Ryou had been able to get, and though he got annoyed when Ryou forgot a common opening that Ryou really should've known, he never called Ryou stupid or worthless. Instead, he tried to help, to fix what had gone wrong by scrawling the formula down and forcing Ryou to take it for his own good. With a strange sort of patience and acceptance that this sort of thing would always happen with Ryou, he tried to make sure Ryou would at least not forget this particular opening again any time soon.

Ryou folded the paper up, not so many times over as before, and placed it in his pocket for safekeeping.

Ryou wondered now. His mind wandered. Why had Ryou confessed to the reporter that Seto wasn't actually involved with Ryuuji Otogi?

Ryou sighed and shifted in his seat. He glanced out the window to see if he was nearing his stop yet. Sun got into his eyes at the turning of a corner, causing him to squint and and giving him a slight headache, but he was too tired to lift his head from where he leaned it against the window. It wouldn't be a good idea to fall asleep here. His stop would come up in about five minutes.

Why had Ryou been so compelled to set things straight about Seto? What was Ryou trying to force? Was Ryou trying to inconvenience Seto, or Ryuuji, or…Ryou himself?

Ryou heard the distant, recorded voice from the speakers announce what sounded like the approximate shape of the pronunciation of the next stop. It was his street. He stifled a yawn behind his now less shiny and more worn out Italian leather briefcase. He tried to recall what exactly Seto had called the bag when he'd listed all the bag's specs to Ryou in those dark, dull those days before Ryou knew better than to patiently listen to such boring information that wouldn't ever matter. It had been some number in Italian. Twenty-whatever it was. Venti-whatever-it was. [1]

Would Seto, while not giving a fuck that the world knew he wasn't with Ryuuji Otogi, anyway be unhappy with Ryou just on the principle of the fact that Ryou had shared information about Seto's personal life without first consulting Seto? How soon would Seto find out what Ryou had done? And how much would Seto care when he found out?

Ryou stepped off the bus and walked the rest of the few blocks home. He placed the venti-whatever it was on the credenza and prepared to spend the rest of the day inside, half asleep until a reasonable time to go to bed arrived. A few times he checked his phone and wondered if Seto might call. He wish Seto would, and dreaded Seto might, simultaneously.

###### Notes:

[1] Uh, _ventiquattrore_ , Ryou, jeez. _Twenty-four_. Like the hours in the day. It's a very nice bag. Stop being so ungrateful for the nice things bought you.


	26. He's Grown Accustomed to That Face

Less than two hours after Ryou's chat with the reporter at the bus stop, Seto Kaiba knew all about it. He'd got the call while sitting across a chessboard from none other than Ryuuji Otogi himself. Ryuuji hadn't been informed yet. Ryuuji didn't have access to the frighteningly extensive surveillance network that Seto did. Ryuuji's income, while great, did not afford him such luxuries as a public relations network with tendrils in every news outlet on the planet, composed of individuals who were more or less by definition spies. Because his income was lower, Ryuuji didn't have nearly as much to be afraid of as Seto Kaiba did. Ryuuji was also much less of a control freak.

"Someone snap a long range lens shot of you picking your nose, or what?" asked Ryuuji. From the tidbits of conversation he'd been able to overhear, it sounded like a question of Seto's dignity or reputation was being discussed.

"Ryou told a reporter that you and I aren't dating, and a lot of people believe him because he's my friend," said Seto. The way he said it, it sounded like he didn't even really know who this Ryou fellow was, even as he literally said in the same utterance that Ryou was his own friend. This weird sort of detachment Seto's when talking about the very public events of his ironically called "private" life had always aggravated Ryuuji. It was like Seto wasn't even living his own life, but rather moved through it like a pair of impersonal, observing eyes, taking note but never taking part.

"Aw, now what did he do that for?" asked Ryuuji, pouting a little as he staked a claim on the center of the board with the diagonal line of his bishop. "I was having fun with that, and he just takes it away from me, rips it straight out of my clutches."

"I'm not sure why," said Seto. "Maybe he's tired of your bullshit. I could believe that."

Ryuuji didn't grin at Seto, didn't even try to shoot him a faint, meaningless sneer. No mocking retort or quipping reaction whatsoever seemed forthcoming, which surprised Seto, because it wasn't really like Ryuuji to have so little to say.

"Are you…mad at Ryou?" asked Seto curiously.

"I'm not mad at Ryou," said Ryuuji, a tad too quick. "It's just…I wish I'd been forewarned. Had time to put my affairs in order."

Seto sighed and pushed a pawn forward to defend the square he planned to set his knight on in his next turn. "You say that as if he's killed you," said Seto, not liking the company of anyone who sulked as obnoxiously as Ryuuji. "If it helps" he added, "Ryou implied we had a bet going."

At this information, Ryuuji broke out into a wide smile. "Oh thank god," he said, visibly relieved and lighting up considerably. "I thought my day might be ruined. He burst the balloon, but at least he made sure my reputation hit the ground intact."

Rejuvenated, Ryuuji directed his attention back towards the board. His face wore a merry expression that was somewhat unnatural. He was still unhappy, apparently, but he was putting on a brave, mocking face. "Are you going to let this story get out?" he asked casually, moving a piece to threaten Seto's pawn and thus the entire position Seto was trying to build. Seto frowned deeply.

"I don't see why not," said Seto as he analyzed the distasteful change on the board. "He's right. You and I aren't dating. I believe that's been obvious since day one, but, well, stupid people like to dream."

"How long until it's published?" asked Ryuuji. "I'll send someone to print it out, and we can go over it and bet on the adjectives that will be used to describe us. I bet my shirt they'll call me 'eccentric', you 'enigmatic', and Ryou 'elusive'. Which is funny, because Ryou hasn't been eluding anyone at all; it's just no-one's cared that much to talk to him before now."

"I don't want your damn shirt, so no fucking deal," said Seto sourly. "It'll maybe be another hour until publication. I figure they're going to hurry it up out of fear that I might try to stop them."

"You do have a reputation of threatening entire newsrooms, if I remember," said Ryuuji knowledgeably. "How far up the chain of command did you have to yell to keep Ryou out of the paper last time? When they were going to report about some stupid little idiot who said he dated Ryou for a week in the ninth grade?"

"The entire office was shut down. The whole place was packed up in boxes within 48 hours."

"Wait, you actually followed through? I thought they agreed not to run it."

"Only the reporter himself agreed. His editor couldn't be persuaded. So, now the reporter holds a secure position at the Domino City Times. His editor collects unemployment."

"Shit. And the whole office got shut down just because of that?"

"I prefer to sow such faithless lands with salt."

Ryuuji's eyes narrowed, and he shot Seto a sideways glance. "Poetic," he muttered, and resumed focus in the game before them by egging Seto into hurrying up with his move already. Seto was taking ages.

As the match progressed, it became obvious that Ryuuji still remained somewhat agitated; perhaps more so now that he had time to reflect quietly on whatever was bothering him as he waited for Seto to finish deliberating over each move. Ryuuji ceded the center of the board to Seto, and there didn't really seem to be much of reason for it other than carelessness or distraction. Seto was not pleased with the level of play occurring between them, but he endured it. Ryuuji was a fairly emotional person by Seto's judgment, and thus, Ryuuji wasn't at all consistent in his chess game. Some days Ryuuji was dominating and confident, almost impossible to get around. Other days, he seemed to move the pieces about without much of a goal in mind, waiting to see what might happen, before just scraping by on a rough and inelegant victory—if Ryuuji even won at all and didn't simply cede the match or draw after the first half hour. It was Ryuuji at his most infuriating, and Seto grew disproportionately angry when he was forced to contend with it.

"Have you decided on a damn strategy yet?" asked Seto angrily as the entire, careful plan of Seto's had fallen apart after Ryuuji'd refused to make any logical moves for the past three turns.

"No," said Ryuuji as he shrugged. "I haven't. Deal with it."

"I'm not interested in wasting time with this crap," said Seto, point to the board. "Not today."

"Fine, then. I'll just sacrifice the queen and both rooks now, trap my king in a corner, and then you can figure out yourself how fast or how slow you'd like to win this match."

Seto glowered at Ryuuji.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" asked Seto. "Are you really this distraught over your goddamn joke ending? Do you need some time alone right now to pull yourself the fuck together?"

Ryuuji said nothing to this, but advanced his queen with a flourish and a defiant look. Seto now blanched in such a way as only happened when a game he was playing swiftly, unpredictably, turned against him. Fifteen minutes and fewer turns later, Ryuuji had won the match, and Seto was livid, completely beside himself with frustration at Ryuuji, but also, more so, at himself.

"Fuck you," hissed Seto when the final check was played.

"I'm wondering what you're going to do now that you're single," said Ryuuji, toppling Seto's king over dramatically with a light flick of his finger. Ryuuji didn't seem to care that he'd won now that it was over. The action of winning was much more fun than the state of having won. Beyond toppling the king over at the end and grinning, Ryuuji didn't really celebrate the victory at all. Somehow, this made the loss all the more painful for Seto, as even in defeat, Seto hungered for acknowledgement, always. "It might be hard to find someone to pretend to want to date you. If you think about it, you really just lucked into me. Other pretend boyfriends might not be so easy to source."

"I don't need to pretend to date anyone," said Seto. He sat back and crossed his arms, silently making it clear that he was not about to volunteer to put away the board for Ryuuji. Winner cleaned up and all that, right? "I wasn't even pretending to date you. You were just running your damn mouth. I literally said that any time anyone asked me about it. They thought I was being fucking coy. Like I've ever in my entire life been fucking coy about anything."

"Well, then everyone's going to assume you're pretending to not to be dating Ryou Bakura," said Ryuuji. Seto clenched his teeth.

"I can't have a damn friend?" asked Seto.

"Not _just one_ , no," said Ryuuji, smirking at the thought. "That's really weird. That's weirder than not having any friends, actually. Makes people suspect there's something more to it…."

"I'm aware of that. So is Ryou," Seto assured him. "I've already warned Ryou, and he says he's okay."

"Oh yeah," said Ryuuji. There was a particularly intense note of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "Because I'm totally sure friendly, inoffensive and ingenuous Ryou Bakura has _fully and appropriately considered_ how having a reputation as Seto Kaiba's not-so-secret lover preceding him everywhere he goes from this point on is going to affect his future. I guess you're right."

Seto stiffened up defensively as Ryuuji spoke. Gradually, Seto became so still that Ryuuji wondered if Seto was even breathing. Ryuuji looked closer and could faintly make out the continued clenching of Seto's jaw, which was the only sign of life. After a full, furious moment of silence, Seto spoke.

"I figure he has. Ryou wouldn't lie if he hadn't. That's too big a thing to lie about, even for someone who tends to bend too much of the truth to get along with people. I would've been able to tell if he were lying anyway, because he's a shit liar. He's too damn scared of getting caught."

"I'm not saying he's lied. What I mean is, Ryou might _think_ he's considered it. Like when someone thinks they can jump out a window three stories down to concrete like in a movie and be fine, and then they fucking break everything they need to stand on. Indeed, Ryou has such limited experience with what he's getting into that, honestly, if anything happens to him, I'm going to consider it your fault, not his. Because you're the one mixing him up in all this."

"I suppose you'll tell me I shouldn't be friends with him," said Seto. He didn't seem very inclined to this option.

"That will probably make Ryou sad. He's a sensitive guy," said Ryuuji frankly. "Just like, leave him alone for a while or something. Get other friends. Buy yourself a boyfriend somewhere who knows how to live with money and public scrutiny. Think of it as necessary social life logistics, you know? To have your one friend, you need a whole team of friends. Seto Kaiba can have zero friends, or lots of friends. It can't just be Ryou."

"That's a stupid amount of work for one friend," said Seto, dismissing the idea. He was going to say it would just be easier to return to his former friendlessness, but inside him there was that uncomfortable feeling that Ryou wasn't someone who could be tossed aside so easily, who could be jettisoned because Seto was feeling lazy. And anyway, Seto had been planning to be more social when he finished high school, because a large part of being rich and famous and having a huge mansion with your name on it was entertaining people. It let the world know you were still doing well and that people could trust you with even more of their money. Society had so far been cutting Seto a break because Seto was a teenager in high school, but Seto couldn't insist on being a totally unsocial egghead locked away in his study forever. That was how your executive board lost faith in you and started trying to get you assassinated at the bidding of your international rivals.

"I supposed I haven't got much of a choice," said Seto with a tired sigh. "Will you pretend to date me again, Otogi?"

Ryuuji snapped his head back in surprise, not having expected this sudden request, almost a plea, from Seto. "What? And make Ryou a liar?" he asked, but the typical laugher at his own jokes that followed was strained.

"We can easily say we fell in love while acting out our bet, and Ryou calling us out on it made us realize it was no longer a joke, that we've now accepted what we have between us is real, that kind of bullshit," said Seto, the tone of his voice indifferent but his eyes not meeting Ryuuji's.

"I didn't know you were such a romantic, Kaiba," said Ryuuji, impressed. "I'm blushing. That story sounds adorable."

"So, you'll go along?" asked Seto, hoping and yet dreading that the answer would be yes. Seto had the impression that dating Ryuuji Otogi, for real or for pretend, was going to be an exhausting pain in the ass. It would put too much control in the hands of that idiot.

"I'm not sure," said Ryuuji. "Now you've got me wondering why you're suddenly defending friendship way harder than I'm sure even Anzu Mazaki herself ever has. I just thought you were being your general, weird, oblivious self in having one friend. I didn't realize that the friendship meant so much to you that you'd asked me to pretend date you for real, so as not to break your friendship off for even a few months while you find a suitable fake boyfriend candidate."

"Well, we graduate soon, so I don't have time to conduct interviews," said Seto. "Will you or will you not date me? Obviously I will pay you, I'll take you out to nice places, you can have a room in my house, and you'll never lack in KaibaCorp support for anything ever again."

"Wow, are we dating, or is that a proposal?" asked Ryuuji, miming a dreamy face but breaking it a second later as he began to laugh so hard he had to grab the table between him and Seto for support. A few chessmen fell from the board and rolled away on the floor. Seto brushed a pawn out of his lap and waited.

"I guess I should give you the bad news that I can't accept the offer, due to a prior obligation to a third party that shall not be disclosed at the present time," said Ryuuji. He raised himself up, and a few more chess pieces clattered to the floor.

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Seto.

"For all intents and purposes, it means no," said Ryuuji with a shrug. "I have other time commitments, you could say. I have a life, you know."

"Then do you have recommendations as to whom I might speak?" asked Seto. "Trust me, you won't have any sort of obligation to anyone after I sort it out."

"I don't know. It depends on your answer to a question I have for you," said Ryuuji. "This has got me extremely curious, and now I simply must know. I'm not sure you'll be completely honest with you answer, though. I'm not sure it's a question you'll like."

"Ask the damn question."

"I'll have to put you in a position to answer it truthfully first."

"Is that a threat?"

Ryuuji didn't provide a spoken answer. In lieu of such, he instead shot himself across the narrow table between him and Seto in an instant, catching Seto off guard because Seto had assumed the table would've slowed Ryuuji down a considerable deal more than it ultimately did. What happened next was one of the most uncomfortable, most compromising, and unwanted kisses Seto had ever experienced. Ryuuji didn't pull away until Seto had thrown him off and struck him in what was approximately his face area for good measure. Kisses, Seto wanted to make perfectly clear, were not simply stolen from Seto Kaiba. They were rued.

"Well, that fucking hurt," said Ryuuji as he straightened himself back up from where he'd crouched on the floor in the momentum of being cast aside and hit. He was rubbing his face sorely, but seemed to have already accepted this outcome before he'd acted. Seto glared at Ryuuji anyway, standing to full height in case he needed to knock Ryuuji to the ground if he tried again. Ryuuji wasn't going to try again.

"You talk a big game about pretend boyfriends, but have you ever kissed a guy before?" asked Ryuuji. He sneered. "How was it?"

Seto continued to glare at Ryuuji silently. He didn't answer.

"You'd be fine if it were a girl?" asked Ryuuji next.

Seto decided that whatever the fuck game this was, Seto wasn't fucking playing it. As unceasingly as before, he glared.

"Ah, no. Of course not," said Ryuuji, like he was telling this to himself and Seto was overhearing it. "But you'd be fine if it were Ryou Bakura."

Seto faltered slightly in the intensity of his glare at the sound of that name, uttered so matter-of-factly by the guy who'd just kissed Seto to make some stupid point. Ryuuji nodded lightly when he saw this, and offered Seto a surprisingly warm, yet knowing, smile. Seto fucking hated it. Ryuuji had got the honest answer he wanted.

"Maybe you need to make that very generous offer of before again, but to someone else," said Ryuuji softly. "Except, I suggest you don't offer to pay Ryou to fall in love with you. That just cheapens the whole thing tremendously."

In other circumstances, Seto would've stormed out of the room and let the deafening silence of his wake deal with the shit he'd so furiously rejected and left behind him. However, what Ryuuji was telling Seto captivated Seto and kept Seto in the room. Seto discovered he welcomed the implication Ryuuji had made, like Ryuuji's words had come to lift an invisible weight off Seto's shoulders. In sharing the deep secret he'd so long suspected about both himself and the true nature of his feelings towards Ryou, Seto became strangely liberated. A part of himself that he hadn't recognized had finally revealed itself to him and told him exactly what it was.

Seto wasn't as upset as he'd thought he would be at the revelation. Actually, there was the opposite effect. He felt a surge of confidence now in his capacity to know himself and accept how he was. Now, when Ryou crossed his mind briefly, Seto didn't quickly repress it or brush it away. The image that had been so fearful for Seto for so many days was finally something Seto was prepared to look at, reassured in the knowledge that now he knew why it had come to him so often.

"What do I do about this?" asked Seto wearily, far more tired than Ryuuji had ever seen him before.

"You can tell Ryou and see how he takes it, or you can keep it to yourself, play nice, act a friend, be the best man at his wedding, and die early and alone with the unsaid words on your lips and no-one around to hear them as they're finally uttered with your dying breath. Or, well, you know; just get over it."

Seto was unmoved. "No, but really," he insisted.

"Try telling him, I guess," said Ryuuji. "My strategy is to just get things over with instead of letting them fester." He slid back into his seat across the table and its disarrayed chessboard. Pieces were now strewn about the floor, and Ryuuji regretted how bad it would make him look to his secretary when he asked someone to pick it up for him later. "He'll probably go for it once he digests the information. He's a sensitive guy, and he's already got a lot of time and emotion invested into you. Hell, I'm pretty sure if I asked him nicely, he'd date me in about a month of trying, but I'm not an asshole enough to try it. I would only be doing so out of malicious boredom."

"Good to know it will be easy," said Seto bleakly, not at all impressed with Ryuuji's cold assessment of the conditions determining Ryou's inclination towards a romantic entanglement with either of them.

"It won't be," said Ryuuji with a brightness that didn't fully coincide with the subsequent subject matter: "I just know the right shit to say. He's fucking terrified of abandonment because half his family died and then all his friends either ended up in comas or turned from him as the cause of the other guys' comas. It was so bad, he had to switch schools, and now he sees his dad like once a week because that's how fucking far he had to fucking move. So, like, good luck with that. If he turns you down, it's because he doesn't trust that you won't ditch him when the wind changes. Why do you think he tries to act friends with _virtually everyone he meets_? If there was ever anyone who needed a constant stream of approval from others after all the shit that the thing in the Sennen Ring did and Ryou got blamed for…."

"But that thing is gone now, right? Like…the pharaoh?" said Seto, becoming quiet as he brought up the pharaoh. The departure of his rival from the living realm still hurt. Fighting only Yuugi just wasn't the same.

"Yeah, but well, it's one thing to have someone inside you who plays monster card games well and helps you become a world famous duelist. It's quite another to have an absolute dick hanging out in there. That sort of thing leaves a trace. You'll have to keep that in mind," Ryuuji warned him. "He might not tell you, but part of the reason his grades are such shit is because he only partly remembers most of the past few years. He was hardly around for entire chunks of them. He may have had the outward appearance of normality, but whatever was sitting at Ryou's desk, inconspicuously taking notes as it surveyed the world around it, wasn't necessarily always Ryou."

"And Ryou has told you all this?" asked Seto, surprised and also a bit embarrassed that he didn't know these things. He was also jealous, because it seemed something profane that an idiot like Ryuuji would know more about Ryou than Seto ever would.

"No, our friend Honda used to study with him, and Honda's an idiot. He showed me an old biology notebook of Ryou's and was amused by the sporadic changes in the handwriting. Ryou'd told him it was because he'd broken his wrist before, and sometimes it'd hurt too much to use his right hand, so he'd switch over. I know, however, that Ryou has never once broken a single bone in his entire body. Ryou himself told me that way before anyone ever saw the damn notebook, way before he'd had to come up with a passable lie to explain it away."

You all just let him lie about those sorts of obvious things? You just encourage him?" asked Seto. He didn't feel very worried about Ryou when he heard all this about Ryou's troubled past. Instead, he was filled with immense revulsion for the caliber of Ryou's friendships.

"I didn't tell anyone that his story about his wrist was a lie," said Ryuuji sternly. "If anyone knows he's lying, they usually keep it to themselves out of respect for whatever shame or insecurity spurred Ryou into telling the lie in the first place. Those aren't really the kinds of things you bore into. And anyway, sometimes, Ryou needs to lie to people because it's practical to do so, because he can't actually remember what someone's talking about and doesn't want to admit it. He doesn't want them to know that whatever memory they have of him, even if it's a good one about a cool movie they saw together, wasn't actually him. Because who really wants to know that they spent an entire afternoon at the mall with a homicidal stranger perfecting his best 'Ryou Bakura' impression?"

"I guess...I can understand that," Seto ceded grudgingly. On second thought, perhaps Ryou had great friends. In that case, how could Seto be better? Because Seto needed to be better. Seto needed to win and surpass them all.

"Your tutors have been great in catching him up, though," said Ryuuji. "It's not all doom and gloom. He's a resilient guy. I just, like, wanted to warn you about the complexity of the situation."

Seto wasn't sure what exactly he was being warned about or why. Perhaps he hadn't know all the most intimate details beforehand, but that wasn't to say Seto hadn't considered this topic already on his own. Anyone who cared about Ryou would've considered it. It was just, Seto'd simply decided what it all meant was that he and Ryou had something in common: a past neither of them were inclined to talk about in depth except in very rare instances where it unexpectedly might've reared its ugly head. Seto could deal with checkered pasts and unflattering, homicidal versions of oneself that might've once reigned over one's personality. That sort of thing happened to even the best of people, really.

"As fascinating as all of Ryou's personal business is, my primary concern right now is that what's going on with me is just an overreaction on behalf of my hormonal adolescent brain attacking me with chemicals and egging me on into something ridiculous and regrettable," said Seto. He sat down again, but pushed his chair back, increasing the distance between him and Ryuuji. He didn't like how fast the busybody game inventor could get himself around a table.

"Of course that's what it is," Ryuuji agreed. "But that's just the part of you that wants to have sex." Like a katydid on a leaf reacting to the passing shadow of a bird, Seto once again froze, his expression firm so as not to betray what had just crossed his mind. "But the part of you that cares enough to ask yourself if you love a person or are just attracted to them is the part that doesn't have much to do with your hormonal adolescent brain, and has everything to do with the unavoidable reality of having a heart. Don't try to deny it exists, either, because I was told the pharaoh helped fix your heart for you, so that clearly means that you have one."

This was not the day or the conversation Seto'd been expecting to have when he'd got up this morning. He eyed Ryuuji warily as Ryuuji yawned and glanced at his watch. It was odd, Seto decided, how eager Ryuuji was to involve himself in other people's business and advise them on what they ought to do about their problems. He got the impression now that Ryuuji was trying to analyze Seto's predicament with Ryou in order to avoid having to think about a problem of his own, whatever it may be. The serious reaction from earlier, the weary look across the room and the small, whispered sigh as he moved pieces on the chessboard, all that had not been ignored by Seto. Something was on Ryuuji's mind. Seto wondered if he even cared what it was.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" asked Seto, practicing his compassion because, he figured, he owed Ryuuji at least that much. "Not about you nosing into my personal business. I mean about you looking so damn miserable when you're not bugging me about Ryou."

Ryuuji smiled a rueful smile. "It's my other time commitments. My undisclosed third party," he said. "I'll have to cut this meeting short. I need to make a phone call, and then take a trip across town. I'm just putting it off now because I'm not exactly thrilled at the prospect."

"If it's painful, then I'm not going to stop you," said Seto. "You should get things over with. Don't let them fester."

Ryuuji flipped Seto off, but rose from his chair anyway, dragging himself towards to door. As Ryuuji took out his phone, he told Seto to tell the secretary to get someone to tidy the office. He then exited from a door that didn't lead to the main waiting area, but to an office where large meetings were held. He closed the door behind him so that Seto wouldn't hear the call Ryuuji needed to make.

Seto, with the absence of Ryuuji relieving him of any obligation to care, left almost immediately. He toyed with the idea of dating Ryou in the back of his mine for the rest of the day, but not to the point where it interfered with his work, because work was what came first. The whole huge, inescapable topic didn't get his full attention until the very end of the day. That's when he let it all really burrow down into him and settle there, establishing itself as a thing that existed in his mind, ready to wait, ever present in the background of every stray thought, whispering in his ear until he couldn't stand it anymore and finally did something about it.

He didn't want to be friends with Ryou Bakura; he wanted to be in love with him. He wanted to be the stupid kind of idiot who fell in love with his only friend. He wanted to be the kind of asshole that had perhaps only established a friendship to protect himself from taking the risk of a more binding and vulnerable relationship without running a bit of reconnaissance first. He wanted to be the selfish child who, not content with being one of many friends in Ryou's life, insisted on being the best one before all others, the one Ryou loved more than any other.

Quietly, alone in his room that night, Seto Kaiba very seriously questioned all of his motives, as well as puzzled out the ulterior ones that were so deeply concealed that they'd even been hidden from Seto himself until that very afternoon.

###### Notes:

None. I suppose I assume running your hand through the castle tower in a diorama doesn't break bones. Obviously.


	27. What to Say and Where to Go

It was then, at the end of the day, when Seto had finally allowed himself to consider all he had discussed with Ryuuji Otogi earlier that afternoon. He didn't wonder why Ryou had told the press the truth about him and Ryuuji, because Ryou hadn't been told it was necessary to lie about such a thing. Ryou had probably meant nothing by it, really. He'd answered the question honestly, plainly, without suspicion. That was because Ryou too naïve, too much of a novice at his new social status to know better. Seto probably needed to arrange for someone from the PR office to teach Ryou how to conduct interviews, especially if reporters were going to be seeking Ryou out in his daily life. Seto wondered if, once he told Ryou about taking classes, Ryou would be annoyed. It was likely Ryou hadn't realized just how much training was involved in being Seto Kaiba's friend.

Seto changed into a set of nightclothes that had been laid out for him on the bed by his room's staff. This struck him suddenly as a strange thing, putting on pre-lain nightclothes he hadn't even selected. He hadn't needed to select them because they were basically all the same with only slight variations in color and cut. And yet such a thing now felt as strange to him as it had way back when, at the end of his first day in this giant house, when he'd come to bed and seen—for the first in a series of endless, forgettable times—that clothing had been laid out for him and waiting. His father, his real father with a different name and face, had never done that. He couldn't remember if his mother had. She'd died before Seto could be trusted to put on his own school bag without checking if it was zipped up first, much less put on a full set of clothes.

Seto turned on a lamp and stacked some pillows up against the headboard so that he could sit up and check his phone for a while before he went to sleep. He remembered the surprised look on Ryou's face when Seto had shown up to Ryou's apartment the night before Ryou's first public tournament. He imagined Ryou standing at the apartment door in wrinkled pyjamas, not pressed or neat like Seto's now. There had been a chessboard diligently set up on the table over his shoulder, a pencil still clasped in his hand, and an expression that came off as guarded, because Seto had never before come to Ryou's home personally, whether announced or not.

Seto remembered what he'd wanted to tell Ryou then, and felt embarrassed by it. He'd wanted to let Ryou know that even if Ryou did badly, even if Ryou failed and humiliated them both, singlehandedly destroying everything they'd worked so hard for like a fucking idiot who'd wasted entire months of his life on a charade of learning chess, Seto would understand it and accept that this was how Ryou was. Seto was not his own deceased stepfather, who'd forced Seto to learn tremendous amounts of information with physical threats and a brutal, accelerated study program. If that sort of thing was what it might ultimately take to make Ryou great at chess as well, then Seto preferred that Ryou always be mediocre at the game. Ryou's wellbeing mattered more than the results, and if Ryou was upset that Seto had been too easy on him, then Seto could live with that.

Seto, of course, hadn't said those things. It would've taken a lot of explaining, and anyway, Ryou'd already had enough to worry about. Instead, Seto had attended the tournament in disguise, ready to descend and help Ryou if Ryou needed it. Maybe if Ryou had done badly, Seto would've gone to Ryou after his final match and told him all about Gozaburo and learning to be a Kaiba heir and Seto's concern that Seto knew no other way to improve a person beyond basically torturing them into a whole new self. He'd have admitted in shame that the reason Ryou had failed was because Seto had been afraid of being too hard on him and destroying him, because all Seto had ever been taught was how to destroy people to remake them into what he wanted. All he knew was domination, and Ryou was far too fucking compliant.

Such thinking had never been totally fair to Ryou, though. Ryou had done well enough in the end. He'd then boldly asked to stop training, without a single concern for what Seto might think of him as a result. For all Seto accused Ryou of being a person who just did what he was told, it clearly wasn't very true, was it? Ryou did what he was told when he chose to, when he respected the person telling him what to do. He wasn't a weak or submissive person, he was just agreeable by nature. Categorizing Ryou as weak, however, had made it much easier for Seto to ignore Ryou's selflessness in supporting Seto when Seto was under attack. It made it much easier to not accept Ryou's kindness, and to treat such kindness as unsolicited charity. Ultimately, it allowed Seto to remain blind to Ryou's value as a person when Ryou didn't embody all the traits Seto considered to be the crucial ones that make you more powerful and important than the low-ranking peons surrounding you.

All of Ryou's ways had got to Seto in the end. Now, such a person as Ryou Bakura had weaseled his way into Seto's heart, if indeed Ryuuji had been correct in claiming Seto had one. Seto blamed the fact that his heart had been mended relatively recently, albeit involuntarily, and was therefore empty, with a capacity for love and feeling that had not yet been adequately filled, and which reached out against Seto's will towards all suitable objects of affection that it perceived in Seto's proximity. The heart didn't have a brain, and it didn't have much experience in exercising the limits of its ability to care and to feel, so there was very little Seto could do to temper what he sourly considered to be a rather excessive exercising of emotion on the part of his greenhorn of a heart.

The only thing for it, Seto figured, was to see how far the feeling would take him. Ryou would not be the worst subject to try Seto's clumsy heart out on. Ryou was discreet and understanding. He wouldn't judge Seto harshly. Ryou also had a network of friends and a life that didn't necessarily revolve around Seto. If things didn't work out in the end, it was fine, because Ryou would always be able to move on and find someone else to care about. Caring about people came naturally to Ryou, so Ryou would never be alone. Ryuuji had called Ryou resilient. For Ryou, it would be easy to bounce back.

Seto took up his phone and scrolled to the only number there was besides the numbers of Mokuba and a few select members of his personal staff. He dialed Ryou absently and raised the phone to his ear, listening to the ring as it connected on the other end and probed for signs of life that might answer it. On the second ring, Ryou's voice sprang forth, and Seto wondered if Ryou'd been looking directly at the phone right as Seto had called him.

"Calling after 11pm isn't that much better than calling at 4am," said Ryou in place of a greeting.

"I wasn't free to call before now," Seto half lied. He'd had a whole hour after Ryuuji had ended their meeting, but his nerves had been too raw to follow through with calling Ryou then. Also, he hadn't wanted to freak Ryou out by asking him about the reporter so soon. It might've caused Ryou to become paranoid and suspect that Seto was keeping tabs on him, and that wasn't the case. What Seto kept tabs on was the media, and even then, that might've unnerved Ryou anyway. It would've been embarrassing and alarming for Ryou to know just how quickly word had spread to Seto. Seto decided that this was something Ryou wasn't prepared for yet.

"I guess I believe you, but only because you made me review my matches with you until one in the morning twice when we were attending tournaments together," said Ryou.

"I always gave you the next day off," said Seto, a little defensive at the reminder. "I'm not a monster."

"So, what do you want at 11pm?" asked Ryou. "You don't want to go over the tournament I played this afternoon, do you? I know I did badly, but I was ill. I don't need some kind of chess intervention, I promise. I'll do better in the next tournament."

"You did poorly?" asked Seto, having not heard of this. Again, he wasn't keeping tabs on Ryou, and apparently no-one else was either, or else Seto would've heard about Ryou's underperformance already. "How bad was it?"

"Fourth," said Ryou, trying to sound guilty even when he didn't really feel it. "There were a few points between me and third, but, you know, enough to ensure I didn't get it. I think I fell asleep halfway thought my fifth match. But, I'm not sure, because, the strange thing is, I never closed my eyes. I kind of fell asleep with them open, staring at the middle of the board, and my opponent had no idea I was gone. He just waited for me without saying anything. He figured I was just considering my move."

"Did you win the match?" asked Seto. Seto didn't mind that Ryou had been ill and falling asleep, because Ryou obviously hadn't been so ill that he'd needed to skip the tournament. It couldn't have been very serious.

"Yes. I wasted so much time that I think my opponent was worried I had a complicated plan in mind that he couldn't see, and so he just started trying to outthink me, looking for the surprise I didn't have, and he didn't develop his pieces sensibly."

"Psychological pressure is an important aspect of competition," said Seto obviously.

"Clearly," Ryou agreed.

There was a pause. Seto thought about telling Ryou now, directly over the phone, out of fucking nowhere with and great apology, that Seto might awkwardly, accidently be in love with him. Or, at least, if not exactly _in love_ with him, then that Seto at least loved him in some ill-defined sense more than what could be allotted to mere friendship. However, nothing was said. The reality of Ryou now, the boy on the phone talking about falling asleep with his eyes open, seemed completely divorced from the idea of romantic love in Seto's mind. Seto noticed that he wasn't fully comfortable connecting Ryou to such an emotion as romantic love so brazenly, especially when the real Ryou was there. Deep down, Seto still wasn't ready to openly admit defeat to such an overwhelming and embarrassing degree of attachment to another person who held no blood relation to him.

Instead, Seto told himself that if he were Ryou's friend, then Seto wanted to be Ryou's _best_ friend, and that this was what his confused emotions were really aiming at. It was only fair. Ryou was Seto's only friend, so Ryou should try to make Seto the most important friendship of all the [too] many, various degrees of friendships Ryou maintained.

Ryou began filling the pause in the conversation with information about the tournament, and Seto offered a few comments on the different things Ryou had to say about how the team did and how the opponents that Ryou'd faced were. It took a while, but eventually Ryou ran out of things to say, and it was Seto's turn to either add something or end the call. At this moment, nearly an hour had passed since they'd started talking. Seto had placed the phone on the end of the pillow and laid back, his eyes mostly closed, although he never came close to falling asleep. Shutting his eyes simply helped Seto to listen to Ryou more precisely. Seto caught every intake of breath and all the muffled movements that told him Ryou was sitting at a table, maybe his desk. Seto didn't ask why Ryou had been at his desk at 11pm. Seto hadn't thought it was all that strange a thing to do so late at night. It didn't occur to him that for Ryou something like this might not be normal.

Ryou's last topic had been one about Jounouchi, about how lazy Jounouchi was as a team captain, and how Ryuuji and Ryou were annoyed with the amount of meetings he skipped, but it couldn't be helped because Jounouchi was very good a rallying the team to victory when they had to compete. Jounouchi really ought to be in the position of team cheerleader at this point, Ryou joked. Honda was starting to show up to meetings in Jounouchi's place, because Honda was Jounouchi's best friend after Yuugi, who'd usurped Honda only a year and a half ago. Ryuuji himself had begun to drag Honda along, cornering him after school and telling him he was going to hold Honda captive until Jounouchi came back and took some damn responsibly for the team. Now, Honda sat in the corner during meetings and Ryuuji used him to illustrate points about how easy a certain chessic concept was that even Honda, who knew jack shit about chess, could grasp it and retain it as much as a week later, despite the fact that all Honda ever did was exist in the same room as the chess team.

"Do you have a best friend?" asked Seto after Ryou had recounted the dynamic between Jounouchi, Yuugi, and Honda. It was almost like Jounouchi had two best friends, really; a normal school friend and a serious game friend. Sometimes it was hard to tell which friend was better, because while Jounouchi spent more countable time with Honda, he shared much more emotional intensity with Yuugi.

Ryou cleared his throat nervously when Seto mentioned best friends, because it made Ryou recall the interaction he'd had with the reporter that late afternoon. Ryou looked at the clock finally and noticed it was morning. He suddenly felt the time.

"Uh, not really," said Ryou, strangely tired now and hoping the call might end in a few minutes.

"You have a lot of friends, though," said Seto. "There must be a favorite. Even parents have favorite children."

"It depends what I want to do, who's best to hang out with for which thing," said Ryou slowly. "None of them are better or worse. Friendship naturally expands and then recedes, contracts, according to interests or free time. Even if I go a week without seeing you, for example, we're still friends. Even if I don't play chess anymore, we're still friends, though we might have to find something else to talk about, to be honest."

"What would we talk about if not chess?" asked Seto curiously.

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"What would best friends talk about?"

"Uh, life, I guess. Personal stuff. But like, I don't have any friends like that, so I'm not sure. I don't confide in people. I'm not sure if it's because I don't get close to people, or if it's because I don't have anything to really confide."

Once, when Ryuuji had heard Ryou say something to this effect before, he'd laughed and told Ryou that he doubted there was anyone alive who didn't have anything that they wished to confide in someone else. Ryou had amended his statement by saying there was nothing Ryou needed to confide desperately. Ryuuji had laugh at Ryou again and told Ryou that Ryou was scared, that the thing that really kept Ryou from getting close to people was the ever-present fear that no-one really wanted to be _confided in_ by Ryou.

"So, for example," said Seto analytically, "if I'm mad at something or someone unrelated to you and yet I tell you all about what has pissed me off anyway, really break it down for you although it isn't your problem, then we're more than just friends who just play chess or hang out to not be bored?"

"Uh, well, that would be, uh," said Ryou, struggling through his sleep clogged mind to find a way to explain the difference between friends and…well, friends. He couldn't think of another word for it, some succinct way to sum it up and make the distinction clear. The first was just people who liked each other's company and did a lot of the same things together. The second was more intimate because now there was the factor of sharing feelings and problems. It was perhaps brotherly, that bond, Ryou supposed. Or, well, more than that. Maybe too much more if it was Seto one was close to, and not someone more sibling-like. Ryou hadn't been old enough when his sister had died to have had any idea how much it might be similar. Ryou was hardly even so close with his own father. For this reason especially, the possibility of being so close with Seto, of confiding in Seto, seemed unreal and remote.

Also, if Ryou had to be honest, it seemed like it would be potentially dangerous. It wasn't the best idea to be close to Seto right now. It would tempt something within Ryou that Ryou didn't want tempted. If Ryou couldn't get over his recklessly conceived crush on Seto soon, then closeness between them might prove to be very unhealthy for Ryou in the long run.

"You don't have to be like that," said Ryou anxiously. "It would be weird. You're normally so…composed. I wouldn't know what to say if you acted like that sort of close friend. I wouldn't know what to do. I think how things are now is fine, and there's no need to change it."

Seto felt distinctly rejected, and it made him annoyed with Ryou. Seto felt the same as he had when Ryou'd accused Seto of not wanting to listen to Ryou if Ryou had some sort of problem with their lessons. It made Seto aware that Ryou's opinion of Seto was that Seto didn't really care about anyone or anything. This wasn't true. Just because Seto was highly selective about who he chose to invest his care and concern in, it didn't mean Seto was incapable of giving a fuck. And he and Ryou were friends for fuck's sake. Seto was supposed to care at least a damn smidge.

Seto was starting to suspect that Ryou wasn't so great at being friends as everyone insistently advertised him to be. Or, at any rate, Ryou wasn't very good at being a "real" friend. Ryou could only get along and keep his mouth shut, and Seto required more than that. Plenty of people got along with Seto and kept their mouths' shut on a daily basis, cowering with their tails between their legs as they did so. Seto needed some assurance that Ryou might actually give a shit about Seto, instead of just being patient and enduring him because Seto said they were friends now.

"You're not getting out of this so easily," said Seto darkly. There was a surprised intake of breath on the other end.

"I'm sorry?" asked Ryou in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You're not going to half-ass friendship with me, Ryou."

Ryou swallowed loudly, nervously. Seto heard it. "What does that mean?" asked Ryou.

"It means I expect more from you. I demand a quality friendship, and not whatever the superficial thing you call friendship right now happens to be."

"That's ridiculous. I don't really think that's something you just make happen, Seto."

"And yet so far I get this distinct impression if I don't make it happen, it won't."

"I mean, it's just—"

"I'll call again tomorrow. If we talk almost every day, we will run out of things to say about chess, and then talking will be more of a challenge," said Seto. He was far too confident in deciding this, like it wouldn't be equally as hard for him as it would be for Ryou. "Anyway, I see it's late now, so you should sleep."

Ryou sighed, knowing there was no reasoning with Seto when Seto believed he'd figured everything out. "Call before eleven at least," suggested Ryou, "so that I'm not up until 2am."

"I can try," said Seto, promising nothing. He was about to click the phone off, but suddenly remembered that ending the call so abruptly was rude. He rolled his eyes at convention and brought the phone back to the side of his face.

"Goodnight," said Seto quickly, his words a blur of sound, and _then_ he directly hung up without waiting to hear what Ryou might say.

Seto took a breath, held it, looked down at the still home screen of the phone, and exhaled slowly. Romantic notions and something startlingly similar to the beginnings of an aching yearning started up inside him. He told himself it was the idea of Ryou creeping in now to replace the reality of Ryou, because Seto was alone and it was late and his head was growing heavy and tired. Seto had to wake up in two and half hours, and that kind of sucked. He decided he wouldn't go to school today.

Seto rolled over and pulled up the heavy blankets of his bed. The phone he placed on the nightstand. The room was so still and quiet in the dark, like a carpeted cave in the belly of the earth. Like some cavern in hell, and Seto was someone damned. He'd been locked up here to be tortured by the memory of the voice with the eyes he couldn't always face whenever they flashed at him with understanding. Ryou thought he understood Seto sometimes. Sometimes, Ryou was right. How could Ryou not be when he'd spent the past months in an inadvertent study of how to relate to Seto Kaiba as much as of how to play chess?

Seto rolled over again, and he heard, faintly, the sound of his empty heart rattling and clunking as it bounced around inside his rib cage. As it moved, it dislodged his stomach and caused the stomach to plummet deep into to Seto's gut. He became filled with an odd emotional hunger that was just as real and just as painful as a slow starvation. The innutrition of the soul made Seto weak and stupid.

Damn hearts. Damn every gray line that separated familiarity and fondness, fondness and camaraderie, camaraderie and love, love and…romantic love? This had all fucking snuck up on him, hadn't it? It was like a show you didn't pay to see, but were forced to attended for a school trip. The theatre was mostly empty, the dialogue was abridged so it would last a half hour, and the actors weren't really trying all that hard, because the audience was just a bunch of kids who only liked the show in the sense that the show was not school.

And yet, despite the plethora of marks against it, you somehow found yourself engaged in the show. You ended up watching it attentively all the way through. And you enjoyed it, damn it. In spite of yourself and your ability to recognize things that were terrible, you had a good time. Having a good time had never once been your intention, but it forced itself upon you anyway because it simply didn't care what you'd intended. You walked out feeling good about yourself forty-five minutes later, and it was the strangest feeling of serenity and contentment ever.

Seto was starting to toss and turn now. He noticed it and willed himself to lie still. Methodically, with closed eyes and slowed breathing, he dragged himself to sleep. Restless nights were kind of Seto's specialty, particularity after the restoration of his heart had been completed. Seto could conquer any sort of sleepless night now, and he did so. He slept for two and a half hours, held his morning office hours later than scheduled, and skipped school entirely. He called Ryou at half past seven that evening, and told him for an hour how to write algebraic notation in three different languages. Then, Seto ended the call, because all Ryou could talk about was school, and Seto didn't care about school.

This was going to take work, Seto realized. This was going to be hard for both of them. But then, not everything worth doing was supposed to be easy.

###### Notes:

Nothing much.


	28. Interrogations

That night, trying his best to go along with Seto’s plan, Ryou had a list of 100 questions printed out. If chess was off-limits and school was too banal, then perhaps they needed a conversational intervention. Ryou hadn’t read all the questions, but simply selected the ones to ask by numbering them and rolling a pair of ten-sided die on his desk.

The first question was one about the definition of “family”, which Ryou and Seto both answered safely with some generic comments about parents and children and people raising stuff, neither of them bothering to delve much deeper into it than that. It appeared as if they were going to spend the entire time stepping carefully around giving real answers that might leave them exposed and open for judgment. The entire first hour was spent this way before Ryou went to bed, but he had the questions ready again the next day to continue, saying they were going to work through the entire list, so help them.

Some questions on the list weren't all that relevant to Seto, such as questions about money and opportunity, which Seto already had in abundance. For example, one of the questions, was, "How would you spend a billion dollars?" This actually made Seto laugh, because this was not a hypothetical, but actually a daily reality for him as he operated his business. He then enumerated for Ryou a long list of various things he'd spent money on recently, both as an individual and as KaibaCorp, until the sum was almost half a billion total. Ryou had stopped listening after the first three minutes. Seto's explanation had gone on for ten. In all fairness, Seto was fully aware Ryou wasn't listening. Seto had merely wanted to make a point and possibly, in a rather roundabout and surreal way, a joke.

On another question, “How would your friends describe you?” Seto sarcastically asked Ryou how Ryou would describe him. Ryou made the argument back that no, this question was about the way Seto _thought_ he was perceived, and not how others literally saw him. It gave insight on the kind of person Seto tried to be to his friends, and to the opinions he believed others might hold of him.

“In that case, I’m unsympathetic, demanding, diligent, shrewd, straightforward, financially secure, and a more than anything a dick,” Seto rattled off in a single breath. “And I dare you to tell me none of that’s true.”

“All of that is more or less true, though not as negatively as you’ve put it,” admitted Ryou. “But you left out the positive things.”

“Oh yeah: _Rich and tall._ ”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” said Ryou, not actually laughing, but just reciting the sound lamely. “You have more positive traits than wealth and height, Seto. You can be patient, for one. You’re thoughtful. You’re self-assured. You value your little brother and take care of him.”

Seto didn't seem to have much patience for the listing of his more luminous qualities, because what many people considered "positive" he considered "shit you do for no reason other than to get along" or "shit you have to do because you're not a damn monster". They weren't very outstanding qualities, but were just the boring prerequisites to having any sort of human decency. No matter how much of a dick he was, Seto was still a person. There was nothing special about being human.

“And how do people describe you?” asked Seto.

“Quiet. Weird. Nice. Polite. Shy. Absentminded. Patient. Uh…precise…. Passive…. Pleasant…?”

“About half your personality seems brought to us by the letter p.”

“I’m not great with adjectives. I kinda got stuck on p after patient.”

“Well, _resilient_.”

“What?”

“You forgot resilient.”

“Oh. Well yeah, I guess,” said Ryou uncertainly. “Let’s see what the next question is. Here, 45. Okay. ‘If you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or yard work?’ Well, I guess you can’t answer that, because you don’t do any of those things anyway. I would choose cooking, because I don’t know how to really cook for real. I just assemble my food. Also, I don’t have a yard, and cleaning isn’t really all that hard for me living alone.”

“Fascinating,” said Seto, finding the question incredibly boring. This question was similar to the ones yesterday about if Seto was a clean or messy person when his messes were never around long enough for him to notice he’d left them, or about what kitchen appliance Seto used every day when he hadn’t stepped foot in a kitchen in _weeks_. “Next.”

“Okay. 72. ‘Have you ever had a secret admirer?’ Ugh. That is so stupid and lame sounding, and I think the answer is yes, right? How could you not have one?”

“I’m not sure if stalkers count as secret admirers. I think those are two distinct things.”

“And my admirers aren’t very secret. Though someone sent me the foot of a rubber chicken once and a note written in red paint, telling me about the dark spell they were planning to do to make me love them, and if I could please leave them some of my hair in that locker with the broken lock in C Hall that no-one uses.”

“That would never happen to me. My assistants would intercept the message. Were you sent anything weird after that?”

“Yeah. A week after I left the hair—”

“You actually left hair for them?”

“Why not? It was just a silly game. Love spells aren’t real.” Seto grumbled disapprovingly in response. “Anyway, after I left the hair, a little bottle showed up on my desk filled with a clear liquid and some…particles of stuff. There was a note asking me very nicely to drink it.”

“And you drank it, didn’t you? You _idiot_ ,” said Seto in horror.

“Of course not,” said Ryou. “I told Jounouchi, in case the admirer was in the room, that the drink would be refreshing to have with lunch outside on the patio, which was where anyone could clearly see me and know I drank it. Then, I poured it out in a toilet during gym class, rinsed it, and filled it with normal water, and _that_ was what I drank at lunch.”

“I don’t know what to say. That seems like a lot of work just to spare someone’s feelings.”

“I figured if they saw the spell fail, they’d realize it wouldn’t work and give up on that kind of thing.”

“Did they?”

“I got a letter a month later with an apology and a outline of the entire spell and potion ingredients, asking me to proofread it and make any alterations. I guess my admirer thought I was knowledgeable about that kind of thing. I wrote back saying love potions and spells aren’t real, that the only magic I know destroys things, and I suggested a potion I made up with Honda that would destroy the crush my admirer had on me instead. It got a thank you letter after, and that was it.”

“Again, Ryou, I’m at a loss for what to say. I feel like you’re bullshitting me, but I know how you are, and this oddly sounds like something you’d do. It’s also incredibly stupid.”

“How about another question? Let’s see where the dice are…. Okay. ‘Who would you want to be stranded with on a deserted island?’”

Seto didn’t deliberate over the answer. “You, I guess.”

Ryou stammered. “W-what?” 

Ryou was happy Seto could not see him through the phone as the heat rose to his face.

“The only other person I can stand is Mokuba, but I wouldn’t want him stranded on a deserted island,” said Seto casually. Ryou let out a sigh of relief before realizing what Seto’s answer meant.

“Oh, wait, so I’m the lucky one who gets stranded?”

“We can die of exposure together, yeah.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“And you? Who would you be stranded with?”

“I feel obligated to say you, because you chose me,” said Ryou thoughtfully. “But really, I think my dad. No-one would miss the two of us all that much, and I’m all he has, so I can’t leave him alone, even if we do just kind of die horribly of exposure together and that’s it. I get the impression that if anything were to happen to me, if I were to go, then he’d… _go_ , too.”

The implication, of course, was that Ryou’s father would kill himself. Seto supposed in that case, he and Ryou would have something extra in common, although it was Seto’s stepfather that had committed suicide, and Seto had been too dead inside at the time to care. Ryou meanwhile cared so much about his own father dying that he was worried about it happening even after he himself was dead and couldn’t do anything about it.

Seto and Ryou were already nearing the hour and a half mark where they'd agreed to have the questions cut off so that they could both go to sleep. Today, however, they were completely distracted and on a roll. The questions began to fly by as Ryou neglected to check the time.

If money were no object, what would you do all day? (Seto: “Weep over my meaningless existence.” Ryou: “Sleep.”) 

How many languages do you speak? (Seto: “Nine.” Ryou: “OH MY GOD YOU SPEAK NINE LANGUAGES?” Seto: “Well, twelve if you count ones I can only read.” Ryou: “TWELVE! Do you have a _time machine_? Who has enough years in their life to learn _twelve languages_?” Seto: “I don’t see the big deal. I use them for work….”) 

What was your first job? (Seto: “Uh, yeah…” Ryou: “I helped out at the museum.”) 

Who knows you the best? (Seto: [he didn't say "Ryuuji Otogi, apparently" aloud, but he thought it, bitterly] "Mokuba, or maybe you now after these damn questions." Ryou: "Jounouchi." Seto: "WHAT EVEN, YOU TAKE THAT BACK." Ryou: "Okay, my father." Seto: " _Better_.")

What's the longest you've gone without sleep and why? (Both elected not to answer this, as both would’ve lied. This question and a few like it were skipped, as they touched too deeply on Seto and Ryou’s troubled and traumatic pasts.) 

What is one thing you will never do again? (Seto: “This.” Ryou: “No, be serious.” Seto: “I’m being exceedingly serious. I’ve never been more serious in my life. _This._ ”)

Ryou realized at 2am that all the questions and side conversations had kept them talking for three hours. When he pointed this out to Seto, Seto said he’d already known. Seto had scheduled five meetings and sent twenty emails in that time, which left Ryou feeling both a little hurt and a bit in awe that Seto could work and answer stupid questions at the same time. Ryou had heard what he thought was the sound of typing in the background, but he’d doubted it because it had been so late at night. Apparently he shouldn’t have doubted it for a second.

“There might be a pop quiz sometime this week in chemistry, so I really need to go to bed,” said Ryou. The light in his bedroom was pale and artificial, and it was starting the give him a headache. “It might be tomorrow for all I know.”

“It won’t be. Don’t go to school if you’re tired,” said Seto.

“How do you know the quiz won’t be tomorrow?”

“I’ll email the teacher, and it won’t be.”

“But teachers have lesson plans and stuff. Why would they reschedule for you?”

“Because I kinda have money and stuff.”

“That’s really creepy, you know? That you can just put people in your pocket and tell them what to do. Doesn’t it make you a little sad to see how people act? Like, when you paid all those guys to leave the chess club, and they were running for the door just to get thirty bucks?”

“It’s how people are,” said Seto in a voice that said he was shrugging as well. “It’s not my fault. It’s an exchange.”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to ask you to stop paying for my grades,” said Ryou. Now that he and Seto had got to know better how each one defensively answered a difficult question, Ryou felt he could open up a little more. “I’ve been doing my own homework and projects now, so there’s no point for anyone else to do them for me. To be honest the teacher always looks a little surprised when I hand things in, and it gives me the impression that I don’t need to. It makes me feel bad.”

“Then I’ll stop,” said Seto. “I’ll show you the paperwork terminating that agreement between me and your teachers by the end of the week. You’ll have to sign off, too.”

“So official?”

“All agreements concerning money have to be terminated officially. You have to make it very clear that you aren’t paying people anymore. It might cause some resentment, however. Some of the teachers might've been budgeting under the assumption that they’d be getting that money until the end of the school year.”

“Oh. In that case, don’t stop paying them,” said Ryou, changing his mind with this new information. “You’re right. It’s too close to the end of the year.”

“I understand why you asked for me to stop,” said Seto, figuring this might pass for a consoling sort of thing to say to Ryou. “I’m… _sorry_ …it won’t work out.”

“It’s okay. I’ll just keep studying so that I can get into a decent university,” said Ryou with a dismissive laugh so Seto know it was okay and didn’t have to be so serious. “I don’t want you paying for me to pass my entrance exams, too, after this. I should probably take those myself.”

“Are you sure?” asked Seto. By now, Ryou could tell when Seto was being sarcastic, so he assured Seto that yes, he was very sure. It was late; they were both tired now. Seto wasn’t so serious when he was feeling sleepy, Ryou found. Eventually, Seto might start getting mean, because Seto, due to lack of practice with good humored jabs, didn’t have a consistent idea of where to draw lines until well after he’d already crossed them. Being sleepy wasn’t going to help with this, because sleepiness kept one from thinking clearly.

Soon, the call ended. Seto was once more alone in the still, hollow room that perhaps would’ve echoed if the windows hadn’t been hung with heavy drapes and the floor carpeted. He was soon relieved of his loneliness by the appearance of Mokuba, who’d noticed the light was on and had come to see if Seto was awake. Mokuba, it turned out, had been up all night playing video games on the large screen downstairs in the game room. Seto was cross with him upon hearing this, as was necessary for Seto to be since he viewed himself as a teenaged father figure, but he kept his reprimand short. He was tired, drained from the mental and emotional exercise of answering so many bizarre and person questions in succession. 

Mokuba asked why Seto was still awake. This went unanswered. Seto could tell Mokuba had only asked the question because it was the natural thing to do after Seto had scolded Mokuba for being awake at 2am, despite the fact that Seto himself was clearly awake at that hour, too. Seto knew Mokuba already assumed his older brother had been working. Indeed, Mokuba like to say they should make Seto’s bedroom a computer-free zone, because Mokuba had read somewhere online that if you worked in your bedroom, you’d begin to associate the room with mental strain and the stress of getting things done, and that would ultimately interfere with your ability to relax and fall asleep there. It was the same logic as not eating in front of a television, because that would make you crave food every time you watched something.

There stirred in Seto suddenly a great feeling of affection for Mokuba, who was yawning widely and scratching his ear unawares. Seto, of course, frowned immediately and showed nothing. His emotions were escaping more and more frequently from where he kept them fettered inside him. The affection that surged forth now was entirely uncalled for. Mokuba had done nothing to earn it. He’d merely entered the room at the right time and asserted his presence with conversation. Seto shook his head and supposed the most logical explanation was that the misplaced affection directed at Ryou, which had floated uselessly in the space of his mind since the call had ended, had taken on a new object in Mokuba.

“Are you going to bed?” asked Seto after a pause. “Are you tired?”

“No,” said Mokuba. “I came up here to get a manual.”

“Then let’s play ‘Roland III: Colonna Traiana. We never finished it.”

“What? You aren’t going to tell me to go to bed?”

“No. I’m bored and suddenly very awake,” said Seto as he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood.

“Well, we never finished that game because you kept getting mad when you saw typos in German when we infiltrated the Nazi base.”

“I’m in a better mood now.”

“Are you sure? Last time you woke up half the live-in staff yelling corrections at the screen, Seto. Also, it was super boring having to you explain to me over and over when you weren’t yelling what was wrong with stuff.”

“I promise to let it slide this time,” said Seto. He and Mokuba left the room together and headed to the game room.

Meanwhile, Ryou sat by himself at an empty desk, surrounded by the strange, suffocating quiet of an apartment building where all the tenants had gone to sleep. The battery of his phone was nearly spent, but he didn’t move to plug it in again in the corner of the living room. He crossed his arms on the desk and then buried his face in them, breathing slowly and deliberately. One of his hands came up after a moment and began to worry through the tangled hair at his nape, endeavoring to repress his agitation. The hand closed and loosened a few times, pulling his hair taunt and then letting it go. Still, the feeling did not abate. Still, he felt the impending anxiety that would keep him up by weaving through every thought that paced back and forth through his mind all night.

The apartment was so empty, Ryou thought. There wasn’t a single sound. All there was was Ryou. The idea, as it struck him, made him feel suddenly so isolated and forgotten that he thought he might become legitimately sad. Tears came easiest to Ryou when he felt lonely and sundered from anyone who might ever care for him. That didn’t mean he was like the stone Niobe, tears always below the surface and awaiting a chance to spill forth in endless streams, to the immense discomfort and scuffling of feet of all around him. Nor did it mean he was petulant, always weeping over some imagined slight or other because he couldn’t bear the reality of the things in life that were hard. 

The last time he’d come to full tears was last year, when he wasn’t permitted to go with his friends into the pharaoh’s memories. At the familiar prick in his eyes and blurring of vision, he’d run like all hell to make sure no-one saw it. Just because he’d felt strongly enough for his eyes to water, he hadn’t exactly wished for this to be common knowledge, and so, at the risk of appearing uncharacteristically abrupt, he’d bolted. The shame of having done this very obvious thing (as Ryou was sure everyone had known exactly why he’d run) was almost enough to make him start all over again with tears once he was well away.

Until now, Ryou had liked to believe that the time he’d openly cried last year had been a symptom of great stress mingled with a reasonable amount of immaturity that no-one could fault an average teenager for having. He’d grown a whole year since then, though. A huge weight had been graciously lifted from his shoulders with the departure of the pharaoh and the spirit of the ring, and Ryou was a new person. This new person was supposed to be way better than childish tears. This person understood that the only reason Ryou even felt so incredibly lonely at 2am on a quiet weekday was because Ryou’s heart had decided they needed something that was not there with them. His heart didn’t seem to care or even acknowledge that they’d both been perfectly content to sit at home by themselves almost every night for months before Seto Kaiba had even become a factor in Ryou’s life. 

It was crazy to think the quiet and stillness now oppressed him, even as he fought to find the energy to raise his head from where it lay wearily in his arms. Plenty of people cared about Ryou, he reminded himself, and just because they weren’t here now in this room didn’t mean their amiable sentiments towards him had ceased to exist. Truly any one of them could be called at any moment, and they would help him however they could once they’d got over the alarm of being called at 2am. If Ryou felt rejected and sad, they would give him company and reassure him that he wasn’t alone. They’d reassure him of that and of all the other things Ryou already knew and would feel embarrassed about forcing them to spell out for him: that Ryou was valuable, that Ryou was loved, that Ryou had friends, that his life was really very full and happy, all past traumatic experiences considered.

Stupidly, however, the only person Ryou seemed to want to care about him was Seto Kaiba. Only Seto’s opinion mattered, ranked above all others’ because it had emanated from Seto’s own mouth and not theirs. Ryou’s heart, being an idiot, had decided they needed quite a lot from Seto to feel good about themselves. This was probably because Ryou and Seto had spent so much time studying chess together. Ryou had struggled to please Seto, to fulfill the expectations placed upon him, and now that this dynamic was more or less finished, all the emotional energy (which was decidedly _not_ finished) had transformed into an odd, hard to squelch infatuation. He no longer wanted Seto’s acknowledgement and appreciation as a chess player, but instead as a person.

Ryou was well-read enough to know that starting a relationship with someone simply because their approval validated you was a very, very bad idea. At that moment, the nervous trembling in his stomach changed and became instead a deep sense of frustration with himself for not being able to sensibly talk his heart down and keep his emotions in check. Love and such mysteries were impervious to reason. He figured maybe half the broken hearts in the world were something their owners had to look back on with a shrug and mumble, “Well, to be honest, I really did sort of see this coming to me….”

Body limp as though in protest against the action (and indeed to any expenditure of energy that was not devoted solely to the perpetuation of lovesick misery), Ryou pulled himself up and out of the desk chair. He shuffled off to bed, where he read the prologue and first chapter of a book about cowboys shooting at each other in the American West. It was a genre his father enjoyed, and it was a book his father had recommended/forced on Ryou in their last visit three days ago. Ryou read it now, at long last, not because he was interested in westerns, but because he supposed the subject matter would not stir any unwanted feelings inside him. In a few months, he’d have to move back to his father’s house, and there’d be a lot more lauded westerns to slog through until the sweet escape of the first day of university arrived.

At least at his father’s house, _their_ house, Ryou wouldn’t be totally alone when lovesickness struck. At least he’d always be able to hear soft snoring from the other room, which would never let things get so damn quiet as they were now.

The book soon had its intended affect on Ryou’s ability to keep himself awake. Ten pages in, and he was nodding off through the description of a desert fort with canons and patrolling soldiers in uniforms rendered with such loving detail that Ryou’s subsequent dreams were filled with insignia, buttons, polished boots, and regulation haircuts. He figured he should ask Seto what Seto thought about westerns. He should make a list of all the potential things they could talk about that weren’t chess. That would be great. More lists. And on the very end, buried five hundred topics and questions deep or more, he’d put the question he thought was the one he really wanted to ask.

Would you risk a friendship [or your only friendship supposedly, as the question would be directed at Seto] on the chance that friendship might be too constrained a parameter within which to express what you might really feel towards or want from someone?

Or, shorter and more to the point: Would you like to be more than just friends with me? Because it turns out I can literally think of nothing else anymore, and I’m ruining everything. Please respond. Please don’t hate me for this. I’m so very sorry.

###### Notes:

Nope.


	29. Sprezzatura

Ryuuji, Ryou and Seto sat around a table like the beginning of a bad joke, where one of them would be a coward, another would be the "blond", and the third would crack wise. A week had passed since Ryuuji and Seto had let their adoring fanbase down utterly by proving they were not an item. Even the press seemed incapable of dealing with the sudden turn of events, as the usual questions about how each party felt and would move on following the rupture of an amorous relationship didn't exactly apply to the current situation. There had never been any relationship to speak of. Instead, inquisitive reporters wishing to know about the two's romantic lives were left asking tactless questions about if they were seeing anyone special right now, and once given a resolved "no", had nothing much further to tack on to that line of questioning.

At first, Ryou had been surprised at Seto's invitation to the fundraiser dinner event, and the suggestion that Ryou wear the neatly pressed trousers and shirt, untouched in Ryou's closet where Ryou'd left them for weeks, that had been Ryou's uniform during their undercover tournament days. Those clothes were more expensive than whatever else Ryou probably owned, and they were business casual enough to make him inconspicuous in Seto's presence.

The dressing advice had concerned Ryou. The dinner seemed way bigger a deal than Seto was letting on, but the only person Ryou was able to ask was Seto himself, and Seto had just shrugged and told him to ready at six.

Not sure how to look formal and dignified and make it look easy, Ryou had gone for an expression such as one might wear to a funeral: resolute, distant, and with the vague impression that he was counting in his head softly the entire time in order to sustain the appearance of cool unflappability. He tried this expression out in his bathroom mirror and thought it gave him a decorous air suitable for an occasion that require not just any pressed trousers and button up shirt, but _the most expensive_ trousers and button up shirt in his apartment. The need for such clothes suggested, in Ryou's mind, that he was going to be rubbing shoulders with people who could probably tell the difference in quality. People, indeed, who took such a difference very personally.

Ryou kept the faintly funereal expression in place as he put on his heavy watch at the door, shuffled through the contents of his wallet for no discernable reason because like hell he was going to pay anything, and quarreled with the dimensions of his hair reflected back to him in the elevator mirror before realizing he hadn't hit the button for the vestibule hard enough for the elevator to realize he'd wanted it to go anywhere. A neighbor who witnessed him passing through the hall smiled kindly and then looked away, inferring from the solemn look on his face that someone dear to Ryou had most certainly died. Why he remained half dressed for the funeral service so late in the evening was anyone's guess, but it wasn't the time or place to inquire.

It was raining outside, and Ryou held aloft a bright green umbrella that couldn't totally prevent his shoes from getting wet. He called Seto's secretary and asked when the car would arrive, and the secretary told him that it was almost there. A moment later, the car turned the corner and came down the street. Ryou hurried to hop in through the rain, as though if he went fast enough, he could run between the droplets.

Seto wasn't in the car, but Ryou didn't see that at first. He didn't see it until Ryuuji put an arm around his shoulders and nearly caused Ryou to leap out of his skin from shock. Upon seeing it was Ryuuji, he relaxed more.

"Are you okay?" asked Ryuuji, laughing and knowing perfectly well why Ryou had jumped. Ryou knew better than to lie and make it worse.

"I uh, thought you were Seto, and that creeped me out."

"I'm going to tell Kaiba you said that, and I'll warn him to never carelessly embrace you for anything, least you go into shock and become totally catatonic," said Ryuuji. His arm on Ryou's shoulders was heavy now, not going anywhere.

"If Seto put an arm around anyone's shoulders, whether mine or anyone else's, I really think I'd collapse in shock," agreed Ryou as he checked his sleeves for marks of water. The fabric was pale, and any wetness would be obvious against it. "Speaking of a shock, why are you in Seto's car instead of Seto?"

"Ugh, dinner," said Ryuuji, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a bitter expression. Ryou noticed then that Ryuuji wasn't dressed in his usual, flamboyant manner. There weren't nearly so many colors and acute angles as what Ryou had come to expect from Ryuuji. Ryuuji's normally high piled hair, one of literally the biggest statements in Ryuuji's daily appearance, was almost completely back now, and it made him look older, more demure, like a hip 30-something who made coffees with weird devices that looked like they'd come from a science lab. It was the kind of guy who you suspected probably only feigned tasting the difference between the brews from each device by throwing out a convoluted smokescreen of superfluous adjectives referring to physical properties coffee didn't even possess, but which made each cup sound like little, individual sound bites of poetry. Ryou wondered which Ryuuji might be the most insufferable. He decided the older one, because the older one also looked like he couldn't take a joke, but could only ever make them at the expense of everyone around him.

"Why…are you dressed?" asked Ryou. Ryuuji glanced down at his loose, urban-cool suit as though only just realizing he had it on. It might've not been the vanguard of fashion, but it definitely still managed to look like the kind of suit a pirate would assemble from the darkest toned pieces of his plundered wardrobe. Whatever the vest was upholstered in, it seemed heavy, like weighty damask. It was like the kind of thing you'd hang for curtains. Ryou reached out to prod the impressions in the fabric curiously, and Ryuuji laughed at him.

"I can't possibly show up _undressed_ ," said Ryuuji, intentionally misunderstanding Ryou.

"Will I start having to look weird like you and Seto eventually?" asked Ryou after he was done surveying the vest. "I'm not sure I can pull off anything really trendy."

"No, I think you'll look way more mysterious if you just dress like an office clerk all the time like right now," said Ryuuji. "People will ask each other who's the good-natured, put together, affably normal looking young man in the background of Seto's photos? What's the connection? Where did he come from? He's absolutely adorable with his sleeves rolled up a quarter of the way."

Ryou looked at his sleeves, which were completely down. "Is that a hint?" he asked.

"You're not wearing a jacket, are you? Or a tie…."

"Was I supposed to?"

"You look like you just got off work and chucked that shit in the car to forget about it."

"I think that was kind of the idea of these clothes, actually," said Ryou. "Will I need a tie? I didn't get it back last time Seto's people returned this stuff from the cleaners, but I didn't say anything because I didn't notice until two weeks later."

Ryuuji leaned back away from Ryou and eyed him up and down critically. He had Ryou button and unbutton the top of the shirt, roll his sleeves to three different lengths, and stand as far as he could in the cramped back seat. After the entire performance was complete, Ryuuji shook his head regretfully.

"Yeah, you need something to break up all this paleness going on up top," said Ryuuji, gesturing to the paleness. "Pale hair, pale shirt, pale face. If I hadn't walked home with you from school in full daylight before, I'd think the sun never touched you. You look like one of those artic whales."

Ryou wasn't sure if this was an insult, or just a super weird observation on Ryuuji's part.

"I'm sure Seto will scrounge up a tie for you if he thinks it's necessary," said Ryuuji, handing back the watch he'd had Ryou take off and put back on three times. "In any case, what you can do now is roll up your sleeves. People like rolled up sleeves. Makes you look like you're working hard, and by extension, like you're important, especially if you're hanging out around Seto Kaiba. They might think someone's got a new personal assistant."

Ryou did as he was asked, though Ryuuji made him undo the fold and then showed him a way Ryuuji considered better. Ryou had to admit it was much more breathable, but he was afraid it might look too casual. Ryuuji shrugged and said it was a casual dinner, which baffled Ryou, considering the veritable costume of an outfit Ryuuji wore. Seto, it seemed, agreed with Ryou.

"Your torso looks like a cushion on an old woman's sofa," said Seto as soon as Ryuuji appeared in the event hall lobby. This was Seto's way of being taken back by Ryuuji's fashion decision for the evening. "I said business-casual, not musical theater."

"I feel quite casually businesslike in this," said Ryuuji airily. "And what do you know about old women? There's always so many men around you it seems like it's on purpose."

Seto knew better than to encourage Ryuuji with a defensive comment. He turned to Ryou instead.

"You don't have a tie," he said flatly. Ryou nodded regretfully and shrugged. Seto motioned for an assistant to come forward and said something in his ear discreetly. A few minutes later, the assistant pressed a small box into Ryou's hands. Ryou didn't even open it. He didn't need to. He just stared at it stupidly, stunned at how quickly a tie had been procured at the last minute. This was witchcraft. There was no other way. With a prompting tsk from Seto, Ryou came back to and quickly excused himself to the restroom the put the tie on.

What Ryou had taken for an event hall was, the assistant escorting Ryou told him, actually a private club frequented by the most powerful executives in the country. Ryou wished he hadn't so innocently asked about the artwork on the walls then, because he hadn't wanted to know how exclusive an opportunity it was to even be allowed inside the place. He wasn't all that surprised when the bathroom itself turned out to have multiple rooms, with the actual toilet area proceeded by what Ryou could only call a powder room, except men didn't power their noses. Ryou made some stupid, vaguely humorous and lighthearted, fish-out-of-water comment on it, and the assistant replied, with zero humor, that the room has been converted from a women's washroom, which explained the superfluous lounge. Mr. Kaiba had ordered Ryou brought all the way here to this less-used room so that no-one would walk in on Ryou putting his tie on. Such a sight might give the impression Ryou was unprepared and careless, and Mr. Kaiba wasn't sure Ryou wanted to be known for that kind of thing.

"This will only take a moment; you don't have to wait," said Ryou, a bit shy now that he'd been put directly in his place. It was lucky he hadn't made the joking comment that had crossed his mind about how far away the bathroom had been as they were walking. Quickly, Ryou crossed the small lounge to set the box on a counter in front of a lit vanity mirror. The assistant departed with a curt nod.

Once the man was gone, Ryou threw up his collar and put on the tie. The knot wasn't perfectly even, but he told himself that this maybe added to its charm. Some knots just weren't inherently symmetrical no matter what you did, right? Wasn't that the thing? And anyway, Ryou'd never learned more than just the one way to tie a tie. He knew there were others, and looking at his reflection in the mirror, evaluating his taut and far too fussed over work, he wondered how many knots someone like Seto Kaiba had to know, and if certain circumstances called for different ones. Whatever knot Ryou's father had taught him when he was thirteen probably wasn't classy enough for a private club. But…a knot was a knot right? Who beyond the vestiary aesthetes of the world could really be said to be able to tell the difference between them all?

The cardboard box the tie had been handed to Ryou in didn't seem particularly remarkable, so Ryou threw it away before leaving the bathroom lounge. He automatically turned to the right, went back up a flight of stairs he remembered, and then paused. The hallway he'd stepped out into didn't seem familiar enough. He remembered he'd been more focused on the artwork they'd passed, and looked around for a painting of an athletic brown horse strutting dramatically within a pastoral setting. He saw that there were two paintings that fit this nebulous description, and both were hung on the same sides of virtually identical doorways. Obviously it wasn't the same painting done twice, and looking between them, Ryou saw that the equine protagonists had very different body shapes. Unfortunately, Ryou know absolutely nothing about the body shapes of horses, and therefore hadn't noted those kinds of fine details when he'd first glanced at the painting.

This was great. This was awesome. Ryou was lost in a private club he wasn't even a member of and suspected he might not be allowed to just wander aimlessly through at his own discretion. On the bright side, he was certain whatever trouble he might get into Seto would be able to resolve in three words. But, that wasn't going to prevent the hard time people would give Ryou until they discovered that Ryou hadn't been bullshitting when he'd told them who he was friends with.

Ryou was about to choose a hallway at random, but heard his name called up to him from down the stairs. He looked down to see Seto on the lower landing, watching him.

"I figured you'd forget how to find your way when Rossi got back and you weren't with him," said Seto. "Get down here; we'll take another way back so we come out near the ballroom instead of the lobby."

Ryou hurried down the stairs again, leaving the twin, proudly prancing steeds to stand vigil over their respective passageways alone. Seto's eyes never left him, but he wasn't looking at Ryou's face. His gaze rested someplace lower.

"The tie's a mess."

"Well, I don't know fancy knots," said Ryou defensively. "This is how my dad ties them. I see you have a nice indentation in yours, which I guess is classy and casual for you, but casually cool tie tying is a science I haven't mastered."

Without even asking, Seto reached out for Ryou. Ryou instinctively pulled back a little. "Let me," said Seto, inviting himself already. He grumble a little when he realized the knot Ryou had done wasn't the kind of knot you could undo easily by tugging up on the tail. "I used to tie Mokuba's ties on visitor days. I mean, not very well back then, but the point is I'm used to doing this for someone else. Lift your chin."

Seto ordered Ryou to hold his hair out of the way, too, and then proceeded to lift Ryou's collar so he could to get the tie around. With precision and deftness of hand, he wrapped and wove the ends together into an even, perfect knot. Occasionally in the fulfillment of this operation, particularly in the raising and lowering of the collar, his warm hands brushed Ryou's jaw and exposed neck, and Ryou felt the hairs rise to gooseflesh on his arms. Seto finished the knot and smoothed the collar back down with a deliberate firmness that almost pushed Ryou into a heap on the ground, because Ryou's knees had decided they couldn't bear to support him anymore.

Seto rested both hands on Ryou's shoulders and automatically supported Ryou when Ryou stumbled. Seto didn't comment on this sudden weakness, just looked Ryou in the face.

Seto felt an impulse then, one that was strong enough to spur him forward as it came to him along with the sudden memory of what Ryuuji had told him about his feelings for Ryou. He leaned down to kiss Ryou quickly and gently on the lips. Ryou didn't make any move, as he was too stunned and hadn't processed what was happening. The whole thing was over and done with so quickly, Ryou had trouble believing it once Seto'd pulled back. He looked up at Seto to see Seto staring at him with an expression that gave nothing away. Ryou began to wonder if maybe he'd just hallucinated.

"Was that…a joke?" asked Ryou, entirely unsure what could possibly have been the humor behind it. He'd have been able to see this kind of thing being a joke if, for example. Ryuuji had done it. But Seto didn't have that kind of humor. Seto was hardly humorous at all outside scathing retorts in the heat of battle and sarcasm. Seto's humor was an attack, a lessening of the other person to demonstrate his immense superiority over them. It was not abstract or ridiculous in any way.

This kiss, therefore, had probably not been a joke.

"I wanted to see what might happen."

Now Ryou knew the kiss had not been a joke. He wondered just what the heck it had been, though.

"Uh, well, I don't think testing this kind of thing out is going to keep us friends for very long," said Ryou flatly, hating the words even as they tumbled from his mouth so graceless and eerily calm.

Ryou felt oddly cold now. He could feel everything inside him closing up, erecting a wall between them so he could detach himself from the situation and react to it with polite, forgiving understanding and not a spontaneous surge of overflowing emotion that couldn't be controlled. This was because Ryou had learned long ago that in an environment where he had control over nothing, the only thing he could do was try to keep control of his reaction to it and come to terms with events as quickly as possible.

"Good point," said Seto. The sudden impulse had left him, and he wished to take everything back. That was impossible, though, so he took the generous escape Ryou offered him. "Follow me. We need to get back."

Silently, Seto led Ryou through the myriad halls. Ryou distantly observed the paintings, potted plants, and decorative hall furniture that they passed without truly seeing a single thing. Without processing a single thing because the only thought Ryou's mind gravitated towards was one Ryou was not yet ready to face.

_Seto had just...._

They were going to dinner to see and sit with Ryuuji, who was dressed like either a boardroom genie or a pirate. They were going to have dull conversations with strangers about recent and prospective weather phenomena, about the food, about how chess was so good for young people to learn, so much better and nobler than monster card games and every board game that wasn't Monopoly.

_For some reason Seto had...._

Seto and Ryou would hardly have a chance to look at each other because everyone was going to want to talk to Seto or Ryuuji, and those who lost the bid of vying for the businessmen's attentions might settle with a few impersonal comments directed at Ryou in order to to justify their continued presence in Ryuuji and Seto's vicinity until a new opening appeared. Ryou, in turn, would forget all of their names.

_Why had Seto...._

Ryuuji would noticed Ryou was bored and, being bored himself, would invent some stupid game to pass the time. Seto would roll his eyes at them the few times he hazarded to look over. Ryuuji would probably be stacking grains of broken rice with total concentration like the people who stacked improbably balanced towers of stones near rivers and along the rocky coasts of the sea. Ryou would give in and begin to assist Ryuuji, filling his bread plate with tiny cairns of various food particles because Ryou didn't have the skills or the steadiness of hand to match Ryuuji's careful work.

_Seto...._

Then, the dinner would be over, and with any luck, Ryou would be sent home with Ryuuji in the same car. Seto would stay behind at the club in one of the members' rooms because it was late, and he paid dues for that sort of privilege. Once their ways had been sufficiently parted, Ryou would never speak to Seto ever again for the rest of his life. Indeed, their failed friendship experiment (for had it ever been real?) was already in its death throes. That was how it would be. That was how it would end. It would be so quiet.

But, Ryou was wrong.

###### Note:

Time: While we're here, I'd like to bring up the concept of _time_ in this fic, as in, it has become kind of an inside joke with myself that this is a "fic out of time" or whatever. Originally, I was going to make the story fit into a set period of months, and also happen at a very specific time in the YuGiOh continuity, but then…ugh no. Now, I just add weeks and months on to it haphazardly, figuring if I'm not going to base this on how long a school year really takes then I'll just commit to having things take place over a ridiculous period that might not even be feasible if you add the weeks and months all up.


	30. Chasing, Shipping

Ryou and Seto went in silence to the ballroom. Tables with even numbers of chairs and guests sitting around them filled the wide, high-ceilinged space beyond the large double doors on the far end. A few people greeted Seto and eyed Ryou, making it fairly obvious that they were all aware at this point who Ryou was. Ryou half returned a few of the weak smiles that were offered to him by people who hadn't fully expected him to look right back as they'd stared. Seto seemed to ignore meeting the eyes of anyone at all, which was more or less a routine for him when he entered a crowded room.

When they reached Seto's table, Ryou took the seat next to Ryuuji, which put Ryuuji between him and Seto, because Ryuuji was Seto's pupil, and this event was about sponsoring chess programs in low-income schools. On Seto's other side was Mokuba, which Ryou was thankful for, because it removed any confusion as to whether or not Ryou was supposed to sit next to Seto.

"The tie balances out the color," said Ryuuji approvingly as Ryou took a seat. Ryou shot him a quick smile in acknowledgement, but stayed quiet. Ryuuji wasn't blind. He could see Ryou was flustered by something, and that it wasn't the same "oh dear, yes, sorry, let's change the subject right away" type of flustered Ryou'd been countless times before. Now, behind the discomfort, there seemed a very real sense of fear over the uncertainty of how things may progress from this point. Ryuuji stopped smiling.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. "Did you get lost? Kaiba said you might be. Was he a dick to you about it?"

"No, I'm…it's not that," said Ryou uncertainly. He glanced at Seto, who was listening to the person next to Mokuba talk about why chess was a good skill and helped with the healthy development of children's brains. It was one of those things, like playing Mozart, that begun early enough could help a kid to become a genius. Seto didn't appear to agree with the Mozart thing, but admitted that chess helped with problem solving and spatial reasoning.

"Look, if I'm very nonplussed about it, I think I can order you an Irish coffee," said Ryuuji, because unlike Seto, Ryuuji's sense of humor was well entrenched in the ridiculous. "That's a coffee with whiskey in it. Movies and television have led me to believe that alcohol helps one relax. I'm not sure if the caffeine will help, but I'm pretty sure I can't get away with ordering you a shot."

"Wait, what? Why are you so obsessed with alcohol?" asked Ryou, successfully distracted to the point of, for at least a few seconds, almost completely forgetting the sensation of the kiss pressed against his lips that kept playing and repeating in his mind like an itch in a phantom limb. It was hard to look at Seto without the memory resurfacing, so he concentrated all his attention on Ryuuji.

"It's not the alcohol I'm interested in; it's the game of trying to obtain it," said Ryuuji with a sly glance around. "Look, there's a strapping waiter over there. Call him over, and we'll try."

"This is going to be embarrassing," said Ryou with a sigh. He and Ryuuji leaned back to look at the waiter, but were stunned speechless when the man turned around. They knew that face. It was Hiroto Honda. Ryuuji instantly shot up from his seat and pulled Ryou up after him. They hurried across the room, and Honda trotted after, wringing his hands slightly, his expression anxious.

"Please don't tell on me," pleaded Honda once the three of them were outside the ballroom and in a small, empty corridor. "Jounouchi and I work under the table for the catering company here. Kaiba is basically the only person who even knows us, and he doesn't give a fuck so long as he never has to see Jounouchi around. We try not to work KaibaCorp events usually, but a guy called in sick, so I'm here."

"You're kidding," said Ryuuji, displeased. Ryou looked between the two of them, confused and unsure why Ryuuji was confronting Honda personally over this. "You aren't supposed to work. You're supposed to study. I'm not Seto Kaiba. I can't buy your grades for you."

"I can't leave Jounouchi to work alone," said Honda. "Without me making excuses for him, they'd have fired him by now, and Jounouchi needs the money."

"But that's stupid," said Ryuuji, not softening his expression in the slightest. "Someone's going to recognize Jounouchi one day, and then you're both screwed. You guys aren't supposed to work outside school, not with your fucking grades."

"Sorry, but, what's going on?" asked Ryou, butting in to the argument meekly before it became heated. "What's the problem?"

"This idiot," Ryuuji shot out a thumb in case there was any confusion over who the precise idiot there was, "goes around behind my back working odd jobs no matter how many times I offer to help him with money if he needs it. The Jounouchi thing is a lie. In reality, Hiroto is too proud to accept any help, ever. He acts like its charity. Like he thinks I'm showing him fucking pity. I'm not. I want him to focus on school."

Honda seemed uncomfortable, like he had no idea how to explain himself. Ryou could relate to this. Honda was normally limited in his range of expressed emotions, at least as far as Ryou had ever seen. Honda was mostly in the background of life, cheering, getting mad or telling jokes, with little variance between. Ryou had to confess it was often hard to remember that Honda had a private life, because so many of their interactions were closely tied to events in the lives of their mutual friends. Plus, Honda wasn't really the kind of guy who brought his own problems and concerns to the table in a friendship, and while Ryou could understand and greatly respect this clear reluctance to involve everyone in one's own business, this also made it super easy to never deeply know Honda. That Honda had had money problems was new to Ryou. That Ryuuji knew about these money problems was baffling. Ryou hadn't known them to be so close.

"No, I refuse it because then it would feel like you're paying me, and I don't need to be paid for," said Honda in exasperation. "It might make you feel better, but I don't need to be paid off to keep my mouth shut. I'm never going to suddenly change my mind and use everything I know against you."

"Keep your mouth shut about what?" asked Ryou before Ryuuji could say anything. Ryou had no idea why he'd been dragged out here with Ryuuji and Honda, but he guessed they wouldn't even tell him unless he asked.

"About that we, uh, ever since, uh, there was this project in class where, uh," stammered Honda, trying to find a delicate way to share such information and not meeting with success or anyone's eyes. "Like, I mean, uh, Ryuuji didn't tell you? Really?"

Ryou frowned as his confusion deepened, though he was beginning to suspect what the situation truly was. He'd never heard Honda call Ryuuji by his first name before.

"Ryou has no fucking idea, and you sound like an idiot," said Ryuuji, arms crossed and frowning at Honda who'd now turned bright red. "When I promised not to tell anyone that you liked dudes and dames, as you so eloquently put it to me, _I didn't actually fucking tell anyone_. Who the hell do you take me for?"

"Not even Bakura? C'mon; you know you could've told Bakura," said Honda. But, his eyes were wide as he looked between them.

"I'm a man of my word, Hiroto. That's exactly why I don't often give it," said Ryuuji.

"So wait, you guys are _dating_?" asked Ryou, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. Ryuuji scoffed while Honda mumble a nervous "well…" and let it trail off noncommittally.

"Dating sounds reeeeeally formal," said Honda, vaguely gesturing with his hand. "But like, we uh, hang out, I guess."

"We make out, fool around, and play video games, emphasis on the video games because we can do that even apart," said Ryuuji while Honda pulled at his own increasingly disheveled hair in exasperation, grimacing at the already far too much Ryuuji had just said. "It's fucking idyllic and the most cathartic and salubrious relationship I have ever known in my entire life, and it was all his idea."

"Don't act like you didn't drop hints, come on," said Honda, complaining. "Making the first move doesn't mean it was only my idea."

"I'm not here to argue that stuff," said Ryuuji. He crossed his arms and frowned at Honda like he was reprimanding a child. "The important thing is that you quit this job and go home right now."

Honda refused, and a whispered argument broke out between him and Ryuuji. Honda seemed surprisingly impervious to Ryuuji's quick, cutting remarks and stood his ground well as he attempted the impossible task of convincing Ryuuji to change his mind. Ryou, trapped next to them, couldn't get a word in. He didn't know how long Honda and Ryuuji had been spending time together, but by the way they bickered and carried on, he felt it had probably been a while. Ryou tried to remember the class project that might've been the significant one that had brought the two together, but it was hard because Ryuuji and Honda had already paired up a lot in class.

Ryou felt tired then and went to sit on a bench that was against the wall of the passageway they were in. He leaned back against the smooth, cool wall and stared into the invisible distance, into infinity, like he could see directly through the wall across from him and beyond it to the ends of the Earth.

Seto Kaiba had kissed Ryou. Ryou needed to process that, didn't he? He didn't want to, because it was uncomfortable and could go disastrously wrong if his heart got caught up in some romantic extrapolation of the true sequence of events. But, Ryou knew it was best for him to try. Ryou wouldn't be able to properly face Seto or look him in the eye ever again until he'd got this whole thing squared away within himself.

It all seemed so obvious now, though that was always the benefit of hindsight, wasn't it? Ryou should've known there had always been something else, something remotely suspicious, about Seto's impetuous decision to befriend Ryou. Ryou should've seen it in the dodged glances, the lingering touches, the urge that possessed Seto to keep Ryou close no matter what. Everything Seto'd done to guarantee his place as a part of Ryou's life had been a reaction to certain feelings directed toward Ryou that maybe Seto hadn't immediately understood. Only now was Seto beginning to understand these feelings better, and so now, naturally, he was trying his luck.

Ryou attempted to convince himself that Seto, through lack of experience having friends, was just emotionally confused. Maybe Seto had trouble distinguishing between friendship and romantic love. Or, maybe he directed his affection towards Ryou because Ryou was the only person within reach. It could be this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe Seto had now kissed Ryou as a test, because Seto needed an immediate answer to assuage the doubts that plagued him. It was maybe best Ryou didn't make too big a deal of it.

Seto had probably realized when the kiss had ended that, yes, it had all been a mistake. The kiss had been nothing; it had just been done to "see" something. With the results of this test, Seto could rest confident and assured that the feelings he had for Ryou were not amorous ones, though they could be mistaken for such initially, due to how close Seto had pushed him and Ryou into becoming. Once he and Ryou met up again in private, Seto would explain all this to Ryou and apologize for his bluntness. It wouldn't happen again; he'd promise.

Inside Ryou was the low, familiar ache that he'd been secretly nursing even while simultaneously going through the empty motions of trying to choke it off. Every time a conversation between him and Seto strayed into real intimacy, every time Seto suggested Ryou was someone of value to him, every time Seto's touch lingered when it should have been quick and perfunctory, the ache flared up briefly. It emanated from the same area of Ryou that had felt so empty in his first public tournament. Instead of feeling like a hole straight through him, though, it now felt like an endless depth. It felt like his heart plummeted through it, downward forever, and it would never stop. The sensation ached without hurting, making him suffer without inflicting obvious pain. It could be wholly unpleasant and yet the most exciting thing Ryou knew how to feel. There was hunger in it mixed with fear and despair, and he needed to feel it just as much as he agonized over the question of if it would ever end.

Ryou, unsure how to feel now that Seto had laid such a tempting invitation before him, veered down the dangerous path. He told himself he wouldn't be mad if Seto kissed him again. In fact, if it wasn't too spontaneous and quick like before, perhaps Ryou would have the opportunity to kiss Seto back. Ryou was nothing close to an expert on kissing, as most kisses he'd know had been tame, chaste, and not very great. The pathetic majority of them had been stolen from Ryou, actually. Indeed, this very recent kiss from Seto had been yet another tally in the number of stolen kisses against shared ones. Ryou probably looked like some kind of oblivious idiot that invited this sort of treatment from others.

The sad fact was Ryou couldn't recall sharing a mutual, genuine kiss with anyone except that stupid guy in the ninth grade, and even then, those kisses had been terrible. They'd been more like experiments without a real, emotional connection. He'd kissed the guy to see if he could kiss a guy, and that was it. For the scarce seconds their lips had met at the few intervals in which kissing seemed the proper thing to do, the only thought on Ryou's mind had been, "I'm kissing someone, this is what a kiss feels like." It had had nothing to do with the other person or what Ryou might've felt, and everything to do with the novelty of the act and the disappointing revelation that afterward, when Ryou looked in the mirror, his face hadn't changed all that much from how it had looked that morning.

Ryou sighed and balled his hands up into fists at his sides, trying to bring some sensation to his limbs that would distract from the torrent of thoughts, most of them filled with raw and uncomfortable longing, that assailed him in the quiet as Ryuuji and Honda bickered in low voices with each other. Soon, Ryou noticed the voices had stopped. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Honda and Ryuuji were looking down at him.

"What's wrong?" asked Ryuuji. "I haven't forgot you're in a bad mood." Honda, over Ryuuji's shoulder, nodded seriously.

Ryou looked between them both gloomily before leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. Unable to face their concerned looks, he buried his face in his hands.

"Seto Kaiba…" Ryou began, but stopped. Honda sat down next to Ryou and rested his hands on Ryou's shoulders, squeezing lightly. Ryou felt suddenly distressed, as though the world might've ended while he was downstairs in the bathroom. "He kissed me, just now, downstairs. I don't know why. And I don't really know what to do about it."

Unnoticed by Ryou, Ryuuji's face flickered with a knowing expression. Honda caught this look and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Honda didn't have any difficulty accepting that Ryuuji would be involved in all this somehow. Ryuuji had already told Honda since Ryuuji'd started playing chess with Seto that Seto cared about Ryou, and that it was conversely the most adorable and yet tragic thing Ryuuji had ever witnessed, because for a long time Seto himself hadn't even known how much he cared. Ryuuji had predicted that Seto probably wouldn't know it until too late, and then Seto would naturally fuck everything up.

Honda guessed Ryuuji had been right, then. He sincerely hoped Ryuuji wasn't going to gloat about it later, because nothing was more tiresome than a completely self-satisfied Ryuuji Otogi.

"You should finish the dinner," said Honda helpfully to Ryou.

"I'm not hungry."

"I can sneak you a drink from the bar, if you want."

"I don't drink, Honda. You shouldn't, either."

"I can go ask Kaiba what the big deal is."

"I don't care what his deal is."

"I can take you home. Pretty sure Ryuuji's going to make me leave anyway, so you can go with me."

Ryou considered this option, but decided it was too cowardly. He wouldn't just lose Seto's friendship if he overreacted and ran away, he'd also lose whatever little he'd had of Seto's respect.

"I have an idea," said Ryuuji. There was something foreboding in these words, because Ryuuji's ideas were often strange and uncomfortable for those involved. Ryou sat up and let his hands fall from his face. "What you're worried about, I assume, is that things between you and Seto have been irrevocably changed, right? That from now on things will be awkward, and he'll avoid you?"

"I suppose that's it," said Ryou. Generally, Ryuuji was right. What he'd said was definitely one of Ryou's myriad of fears.

"Well, we can see if Seto rejects you or not right now," said Ryuuji. "And also, I can punish Hiroto. So my idea is doubly useful."

"Punish me?" asked Honda unhappily. "Putting up with you is punishment enough."

"Well, you were the one complaining to me that you wanted people to know I'm not exactly single," said Ryuuji. "I distinctly remember you saying once that you'd only consider us to be really dating if it were common knowledge, and yet also that you were jealous of everyone thinking I was with Kaiba, when you knew I partly only made up the stuff about Kaiba to fulfill your first request that I not lead people to think I was single. You're a very confusing guy, you know that?"

"I had a lot of stuff to work out," said Honda defensively. "I've never been in love with a guy before you."

Ryuuji's grin lost its ostentatious curl of conceit. The mask of smug superiority and nonchalance fell away for a moment into a sincere expression of pleasant surprise and warmth. Ryou felt slightly embarrassed to bear witness to such a transformation, to glimpse through this window into what was perhaps an expression of the real Ryuuji Otogi and not the highly guarded and well-scripted persona Ryuuji arrayed himself in normally. Honda's casual, half-considered profession of love had likely been the cause, though Honda hadn't realized it yet. Honda was still going on obliviously about how hard it had been accept the fact that what he'd stubbornly insisted to be a devoted friendship to Jounouchi for years and years had actually been a repressed, unrequited love for him. It had been hard for Honda to admit that sort of thing to himself, and he'd only really begun to accept it after getting involved with Ryuuji and experiencing how it felt to have those sorts of feelings and desires returned for once. Ryuuji should be more understanding of that. Not everyone was as damn sure of themselves as Ryuuji in these things, for fuck's sake.

"Then instead of working, tonight you're my date," said Ryuuji, cutting Honda off as his spiel began to get a bit dull and repetitive. "That's my plan, by the way. You sit next to me at the table, and we see what Kaiba does about the irksome fact that Ryou no longer has a chair anymore."

"For real?" asked Honda, rolling his eyes. "Are you for fucking real?"

"If Kaiba moves Ryou to another table or somewhere apart from him, it means he's rejecting Ryou, pushing him away. That will tell us that whatever the hell is going on with Kaiba is clearly not worth any more of Ryou's time, because if Kaiba can't figure himself out yet, then it's not Ryou's job to do that for him. And trust me, Ryou," said Ryuuji, now turning to Ryou and bending forward so they were on eye level, "if Kaiba has kissed you and can't own up to it after, then he's a waste of time. Figuring out other people's emotions for them, or just waiting for people to figure out their own emotions, is a goddamn chore. That's why I forced Honda to make the first move between us: So he'd have to fucking commit to his decision and play it out in full."

"Thanks," said Honda as he finally remembered to let go of Ryou's shoulders. "Great to know this entire relationship between us has just been a huge test of you trying to assure yourself of how much self-loathing and denial I may or may not suffer from. Great."

"Ignore Hiroto; he's just being a moody teenager," said Ryuuji dismissively. Honda muttered something about how of course Ryuuji would know that; Ryuuji knew everything about Honda, didn't he? He'd probably secretly tested Honda on how moody of a teenager Honda was as well. He'd probably done a whole fucking statistical analysis of it.

"Is this really how you think?" asked Ryou, quietly amazed at being told and explained a plan of Ryuuji Otogi's before the plan was enacted. "I mean, you have a point about seeing what Seto does, but like…this is really how you see people? Like, you see how to force reactions from them and manipulate them and just…it's kind of scary, you know."

"You play chess, Ryou; you know how important it is to always think ahead," said Ryuuji. He pulled Ryou up to his feet then and ushered him forward as Honda again followed them. Before reentering the ballroom, Ryuuji turned and asked Honda one more time if Honda was ready. Honda mumbled something about this not exactly being how he'd dreamed of coming out to the whole world, but he'd already come out to his parents weeks before at Ryuuji's insistence, so it wasn't going to catch anyone Honda really cared about cruelly by surprise or anything. Ryuuji lightly reprimanded Honda for giving so long an answer when a simple yes would've sufficed, and accused Honda of merely stalling for time. Honda sighed heavily and snapped a short yes, and they finally entered the ballroom.

Obviously, the first people to notice Honda and Ryuuji strolling towards Ryuuji's table together were Honda's coworkers. Someone had automatically attempted to hand Honda a tray of sliced cheese with orders to place it on table fifteen, and had stared, stunned, when Ryuuji intercepted it instead and carried it off to his own table with a devilish grin on his face. Ryuuji didn't even like cheese, but he loved the expression on the woman's face as he made off merrily with the tray. Honda apologized for the both of them and then hurried after.

Ryou hung back a moment in the hall, mentally fortifying himself for whatever might happen next. He tried to be as blasé about the whole thing as Ryuuji seemed to be, so confident, so unconcerned. On the bright side, perhaps this sort of thing would make it easier to get over his crush on Seto Kaiba. Instead of deliberating and torturing himself over "what if", he would know for a fact "certainly not", and then he could just sort of deal with it in a more manageable way. Sure, it would hurt for a while as he got over the rejection, but with time Ryou would be able to move on. He hadn't even tried to win Seto, so he wouldn't even have to take the rejection personally. The entire situation favored Ryou, really, because Ryou had nothing to lose except a relatively brief friendship and an ill-begotten crush.

Ryou chose not to think what would happen if Seto _didn't_ push him away. Every time that thought rose up, he felt he might be sick, not because it repulsed him, but because he was absolutely terrified of it.

Ryou heard Seto tell Ryuuji to take another chair, or leave. Ryuuji ignored him and began introducing Honda to every other person at the table in turn. Each person sat stiffly, anxiously, not sure what proper protocol demanded of them in this sort of situation. Ryou took a deep breath, steeled himself, and entered the ballroom with the intention of rejoining the table.

The moment Seto saw Ryou approaching, he stood up, grabbed an empty chair from the table beside theirs, and placed it firmly between him and Ryuuji, nearly knocking Ryuuji's chair over, with Ryuuji very much still in it, as he kicked it angrily to the side to make room. The whole table shuffled over in a ripple effect until the two guests on the opposite end from Seto nearly crushed their fingers crashing into each other. Seto said nothing, but took his seat again and pulled it back into the table as attentive waiters hurried to put out new place settings and shift Seto's and Ryuuji's a few inches over. Once it was all finished, Ryou shyly took the seat and kept his head down.

"All this shit and we're not even through the fucking hors d'oeuvres," grumbled Seto as he received a new cloth napkin from a waiter because his previous one had fallen to the floor when he'd stood. Seto didn't look about, but was keenly aware of all the eyes pointed in their general direction, all of them watching Ryuuji Otogi and the waiter, Hiroto Honda, who he'd sat at the table with them. Only Ryou and Mokuba heard Seto's comment, however, as it had only been directed to the people in Seto's immediate proximity. Ryou nodded along in a distracted way, not looking over, while Mokuba suggested they all make sure their faces were set in an expression they wouldn't mind having plastered all over the news the next morning. Seto, in response, deepened the loathing expressed in the hard incline of his closely knit brows.

Dinner came and went, Ryou and Seto both hardly touching a bite, but for very different reasons. Ryou was too anxious, too uncomfortable to get much down. The jesting comments Ryuuji made to him went over poorly, as Ryou was hardly able to feign even a small, polite smile. Instead of hearing a single word Ryuuji said, he was acutely aware of every time Seto's elbow brushed his arm. They were sat so close together he could feel the heat rising off of Seto's body. Although perhaps it wasn't so much how close they were as it was that Seto was practically a furnace of barely restrained anger at this point, bristling at even a swift glance from Ryuuji. Honda didn't even have the courage to look in Seto's direction, or in any direction but towards Ryuuji and the impersonal table settings. In the latter, he and Ryou had something in common: they were both devoting a lot of time in the intense study of the surface of the table and the décor of the room, and practically none to the acknowledgement of the table's occupants except Ryuuji. They never caught each other's eyes, however, as Honda was too scared that by looking at Ryou, he might accidentally meet Seto glowering back at him instead.

Seto did not stay for dessert and coffee, because his nerves were too wrought at that point to suffer his least favorite part of all meals while in the continued company of Ryuuji Otogi, who Seto had perceived as making far too much of a joke of the entire event. Seto himself found the event to be dull and a tiresome obligation, but there was sense of duty and professionalism in him that had required Seto to host and endure it without complaint, despite how much of a drain of time and recourses he sincerely considered it to be. Seto Kaiba couldn't donate a dollar to anyone without making the necessary fanfare over it, and so he was forced to commemorate the transaction with a social event, all under the guise of drawing attention to the foundation and encouraging others to follow suit in generosity, like they wouldn't have done so if Seto hadn't made a big deal about the worthiness of the cause by buying them all dinner.

Seto's obligation, however, was something he figured to be more or less fulfilled following the main course. He excused himself after half a quick coffee, and asked Ryou and Mokuba if they cared to stay any longer. Mokuba said no, as Mokuba was offended by Ryuuji Otogi's commandeering of the evening, and it was natural that Mokuba's sensibilities would echo those of his brother's, though with less seething rage. Ryou also said no, because there was nothing Ryou wanted more than to leave and put the entire evening behind him as soon as possible, even if he had to leave with Seto, whom he so desperately wished to not have to confront.

The guests largely ignored the leaving of the three of them, Ryou listening to Mokuba intently as Seto led the way, because Ryuuji had answered Honda's reluctance to kiss him for a photograph with a bet that Honda couldn't beat him in a game of chance and dice rolls. Honda smartly chose not to fall for the uneven conditions Ryuuji set, and was able to force Ryuuji to depend on actual chance to win. Ryou was not able to hang back long enough to see the result, but a resounding cheer and loud applause a few minutes later told him Honda had probably lost the game.

"It's a travesty," said Mokuba, shaking his head. Ryou considered referring to anything as a travesty was probably out of place for most eleven-year-olds who weren't Mokuba Kaiba. It was likely the same thing Seto would've said if Seto's face weren't so immovable and grim.

The car was already out and waiting in the well-illuminated downtown street outside. It was only as Ryou sat down that he remembered that there was supposed to be some kind of hierarchy in sitting in the back of cars, which Ryou hadn't followed. This normally never crossed his mind when he got in the car with Seto, because it was always just the two of them, and whoever was nearest the curb when the car arrived got in first. The procedure of the evening, however, still impressed itself upon Ryou's mind, along with the impression of distance he was increasingly placing between him and Seto in all things. Ryou wished he could remember which place was the seat of honor in a chauffeured car, so that he could purposefully leave it to Seto in a sign of deference that would indicate to Seto that any further decisions concerning the status of their relationship would be determined by Seto, because Ryou was giving Seto that authority over it, and Ryou would accept whatever decision Seto came to. Unfortunately, none of this had occurred to Ryou in time to make any kind of point, and so he just sat and hoped that Mokuba might sit between them and put off the confrontation longer.

Ultimately, Seto got in alongside the driver, which Ryou would've been thankful for if it didn't also mean that, since Ryou was behind the driver, Ryou got to spend the trip in a position where he could see Seto the clearest of anyone else in the car. Ryou tried to stare out the side window instead, but Mokuba was talking to him about his opinion of Ryuuji Otogi, which strongly mirrored his brother's own. Ryou wondered if Mokuba really had his own opinion about Ryuuji at all, or about most things, or if most of what Mokuba believed was in line with whatever Seto told him. The only times Mokuba actively disagreed with his brother were in the decisions Seto made that endangered Seto. Otherwise, Mokuba remained in step. Ryou agreed it was probably easier to live with Seto if you agreed with him about a lot of things, or didn't care all that much about the things you didn't see eye to eye on.

"One time Otogi was at an convention, and brought some girl to Seto because she wanted Seto's autograph to complete her book of top 100 duelist's signatures, and Seto isn't really a guy who signs stuff, so he said no, so then Ryuuji snuck a page from the book into a pile of paperwork. After, people were asking why Seto had signed this stupid girl's book and no-one else's. They even speculated he dated her or something, secretly, while using being gay as a cover for it. Like, you know, the complete fucking opposite of most people hiding that they're gay by dating straight. Then this corporate terrorist group was planning to kidnap her, and so Seto had to make a big statement about how he'd signed the book for Ryuuji and hadn't known it was the girl's book, which was enough to convince people that he didn't even know her. I mean, it wasn't a huge problem, but like, it wouldn't have even been a problem if Ryuuji hadn't been fucking around in the first place."

Ryou nodded along at the story, no longer as appalled as he should've been over Mokuba's choice of language. If he were truly listening, he would've been alarmed with the reminder that being connected to Seto Kaiba made one a target for corporate terrorists. As it was, however, he was contemplating the back of Seto's head, guessing what thoughts might be passing beneath the skull and flesh and hair. This was likely impossible because Seto was someone who thought too much. Perhaps not even Seto could follow all Seto thought, but just trailed after the condensed and simplified versions of the long, wispy-ended and indefinite strains of thoughts to their partially unforeseen conclusions. Seto was human, no mater how much he tried to elevate himself above it. You couldn't expect a mere human to truly know itself.

Ryou sighed and admonished himself for being the one who was clearly thinking too much right now. But, didn't love and the conflicting mess of emotion that resulted from it turn everyone into poets and philosophers? Nothing caused you to confront your humanness harder than caring about another person who, in your mind, was much more fallible than your simian brain allowed you to consistently see yourself as being. It made you realize you were just a small part of a bigger whole, an entire species, and that how you felt was how people had been feeling for eons before you and would feel for ages to come. It also reminded you that you were going to fucking die one day, and so was the person you loved. Confronting mortality, naturally, made one asked big questions about existence and "knowing" and how it was possible to waste an entire life in the way one was going about the life at the current time. Once you'd got yourself nice and scared and all in knots, the one reassurance left to you was the company of the beloved one and the superstition that so long as they remained within reach, you might feel a bit better about how hopeless and unanswerable all the big questions you tortured yourself with were.

This here was clearly the less broadcasted caused of the sleepless nights that the lovesick were so famous for suffering: the setting in of inescapable existential dread. If one didn't have any noticeable poetic or existential bent beforehand, they'd more than made up for the lost time once love knocked on the door. These were the weary thoughts you had in the street alone, laying in the dark alone, sitting to work at a desk alone, always alone, and which were only ever abated in the presence of some poorly selected object of desire who could send such a tremendous rush of feeling and chemicals through you that you could finally, thankfully, forget everything else and sleep the night.

Ryou knew all this because Ryou was unintentionally well read. He'd stumbled across all the helpless nothing and nonsense people had been professing about love and longing since the days of the ancient Sumerians. He hadn't taken much to heart, but now it all came to him in snatches, in short phrases and forgotten maxims. And it was starting to aggravate him, because he'd read this book before and hadn't ever liked it. Battles and angry gods had made for much more compelling reads in those tales scoured from the recovered pages of nearly forgotten historic tomes in the museum where he'd worked too many summers on end.

A half hour of traffic and the occasional alley shortcut later, the car finally arrived on Ryou's street. Ryou wished Seto and Mokuba a good night, thanked them for the dinner (Mokuba made some wry comment about it not being worth thanks due to Ryuuji Otogi's antics), and exited the side door. He hopped up the steps to the vestibule and went inside, hearing the soft roll and humming engine noise of the car peeling away and driving off. At last, Ryou was able to breathe easily.

The elevator was out of commission. Ryou wondered what the hell could've happened to it in the past four and a half hours. He was constrained to take the stairs instead, all the way to the sixth floor. This was not unheard of, but still tiresome, especially so late a night. He started out brisk and bounding, but by the third floor he was sluggish and practically dragging himself. He'd just begun the steps for the fifth floor when he caught the click sound of tapped soles far below and gaining. He assumed it was a neighbor, but a part of him hissed with wistful thinking, wondering if it weren't someone else he'd anticipate more.

At any rate, Ryou didn't want to get caught by a neighbor on the stairs, due to his natural human aversion to amiable conversation so late at night when one was already tired and aggravated at having to take the stairs to reach one's apartment. Ryou wasn't in much of a mood to act pleasant and make those empty comments like "late night out, huh?" and have some guy joke back about why Ryou hadn't managed to get a girl to come home with him, and Ryou to joke back that a girl would've stormed home at the prospect of climbing the stairs to the sixth floor anyway. Then, the guy might share with him a high point of the party he'd been to earlier and ask what Ryou had been up to. Ryou would then have to reward the unsolicited offer of information from the neighbor with some trivial pieces of his own evening, but he wouldn't know what to say. He'd probably lie about some birthday downtown, using information he'd gleaned from such an experience last year for Ryuuji's birthday. He wouldn't mention the dinner event and the Domino City elite sat eight and twelve to a table in a spacious ballroom, acting like they gave a damn about chess and school children while Ryuuji guaranteed himself a place in the morning paper. And he definitely wouldn't mention that instead of some hot girl he'd had luck with up until he said she'd have to climb six stories in heels, he'd had a kiss stolen by none other than Seto Goddamn Kaiba.

Ryou fumbled for his keys at the door to his apartment, dropping them and his wallet together and muttering a mild expletive as he bent to pick them up. Upon straightening, he heard someone say his name and turned to see Seto Kaiba at the stairwell door. Vaguely, he considered what his neighbors might say if any were to witness this scene.

"The tie is mine," said Seto blankly by way of explaining himself. Ryou glanced down at the tie obediently.

"All the stuff I have on is yours, really," jested Ryou lightly. His mind mocked in echo that everything that's right here was perhaps Seto's if Seto were to ask for it, apparently. "How much if it would you like back?"

"Don't be stupid. I can't fit any of those clothes," said Seto as he stepped forward. "The tie is literally mine, though. I actually wear it."

"I guess I'm not surprised you need spare ties," said Ryou, reaching up to undo the knot. He took a liberal step back when he judged he was in arm's reach of the approaching Seto, making sure the step was plenty wide enough for Seto to notice and halt his advance. Seto stopped, but a look of annoyance crossed his face. "One moment; you put it tight, and I need both hands."

Seto waited impatiently, just out of reach, and not so subtly tapping his foot while Ryou fumbled clumsily with the knot. Eventually, the tie was loosened enough to get over Ryou's head. He held it out for Seto. Seto caught the end that swung towards him without so much as leaning forward, just in case Ryou might consider that an intrusion as well and break into a run down to the other side of the damn hall.

"Goodnight, Ryou," said Seto before making a heel-face turn and retreating back to the stairwell.

"Night," called Ryou meekly after, crumpling where he stood like the wind had been knocked out of him when he heard the aggressive tap of Seto's shoes make their way down the stairs and away. He was completely done with pretending everything was casual and cool. It was beginning to take a lot out of him, this uncomfortable charade struggling to give the impression that as Seto descended the apartment stairs, Ryou's heart hadn't leapt out after him only to get entangled in his throat, leaving Ryou queasy and breathless.

###### Notes:

CHASESHIPPING: Surprise~! Chaseshipping! Euroshipping I write because it's fairly easy to do, and if I have to ship Seto with anyone, Ryou at least is easy enough to write to make up for how much Seto sucks to write. Ryuuji and Hiroto, though, I can totally ship that. I can't even write it, because they are just so together already in my head that I can't even imagine a plot for them that would have any sort of compelling drama. It'd just be like "LOOK AT THEM. OMG. YES," for like twenty pages and then fin. And like, what does the world need that [happyhappyohsohappy] drivel for?  
If you hate chaseshipping, though, that's about all you'll see in this fic. Originally this chapter and the previous chapter [and next chapter] were together as like one giant ultra-chapter, but it was way too long, so I cut it in three pieces and made them all stand apart more. Thus, the chaseshipping kinda took this second part over a bit. Uhhhhh... Sorry about that.


	31. Play It Cool

Ryou lay on the couch before endeavoring to accomplish anything else. He stared up at the ceiling where he already knew there would be absolutely nothing of note. Somehow, he was hoping to make his mind as empty as the pale, flat, distant ceiling. He hoped to stare up at it meditatively until he fell asleep. He hoped that this might be enough, because he was far too drained of energy to get up right now.

A sudden, forceful knock on the door caused Ryou to jump up with a start and a small yelp of fright. He rolled off the couch and stumbled to the door, well before the thought of answering it so late at night struck him to be something of a bad idea. Fortunately, it was Seto, and not the fabled axe-murderer parents always warned was going to be the only person calling when it was dark outside.

"C-can I help you?"

"Let me in."

"Sure," said Ryou, and Seto immediately rustled past him and into the main room, "but isn't Mokuba waiting in the car? He's probably thinking this is taking a long time just for a tie, I suspect."

"Mokuba left. He told my staff I'm staying in my room at the club, so everyone's gone home, and it'll take about an hour before anyone's ready to head out here and pick me up."

"That just sounds like an awfully contrived excuse to get into my house," joked Ryou in a voice that was much too forced in its failed attempt to appear easygoing and natural.

"It really isn't. Mokuba thinks this kind of thing is funny. His text to me read more or less, 'why stay up until 3am calling Ryou when you can just hang out at his house?' or some shit like that. He thinks it's hilarious that I call you."

"In a way I suppose he's got a point," said Ryou, closing the door and relocking it. "You can wait here until someone can get you. Or you can walk a few blocks down to the main street and get a taxi."

"I'd rather sit here a moment…and talk."

Ryou's throat caught in pressing anticipation of what exactly it was Seto needed them to talk about, as they'd been at something of an impasse since Seto had kissed him only hours ago. Tentatively, Ryou wondered if Seto might try to kiss him again. Their being in Ryou's apartment, in total privacy, ran the risk of things getting carried away. Ryou had never been so totally alone with someone he was attracted to before. He honestly had no idea what he was really capable of in such a situation, though he preferred to imagine he could control himself if things got too far. He sincerely wished he'd be able to.

"I guess I already know about what," said Ryou quietly as he took a seat on the section of sofa perpendicular to the side where Seto now sat. He watched the dropping houseplant at the corner over Seto's shoulder and realized he'd forgot to water it for three days. He decided now was as good a time as any and stood to fetch the metal cruet with the long spout that he used as a watering can in the house. By the time he returned with the cruet filled, Seto still hadn't spoken. Ryou sighed and spoke down towards the plant as he poured water carefully beneath the leaves.

"The important part of talking about something is actually managing to speak," said Ryou, his tone coming off a bit snippier than he'd intended. "Sorry. I mean, do you want me to speak up first? Is that what this is?" he added in a softer, more forgiving way. "You can't possibly sit there all night without a word."

Seto exhaled loudly, like he'd been testing how long he could hold his breath. It wasn't quite a sigh by definition. There was no voice to it, no feeling pushing it forward or the subtle concaving of the shoulders that normally would've accompanied a sigh.

"Do you want me to start?" asked Ryou as he placed the cruet on the windowsill and turned back to face Seto. "Do I have to ask you why, and then you'll give me an excuse? Maybe try to say it was an accident? But that seems a bit unfair, expecting me to do everything when you're the one who…well, you're the one who started it. You came to me just now saying we should talk, and that was your choice. So, speak. Tell me what it is we need to talk about. Tell me why you kissed me and how we can move beyond it, or else leave, and—"

Ryou's voice cut off nervously, where before it had been speaking so assuredly, because Seto had turned to look him directly in the eye. Ryou swallowed, hearing his final words echo in his mind, callous and defensive, scared and blustering because Ryou was afraid Seto may try to walk all over him if he let his guard down. Seto would come bulldozing through and Ryou would bend back easily and without resistance, like a blade of thin grass that even a gentle wind had no trouble forcing to bow its head. Ryou told himself he wasn't about to let Seto take control of the situation and push him around. Perhaps Seto was so infallible in Seto's own mind that Seto'd even try to spin this to where everything was somehow actually Ryou's fault and not his. Ryou had to remain vigilant and not let that happen.

"It wasn't an accident."

"What wasn't?" asked Ryou, like he hadn't already guessed. Even with such a poor set up, he knew exactly what Seto was referring to.

"I wanted to see what might happen."

The same excuse again. Ryou shook his head and sat down heavily.

"And what happened, Seto?" asked Ryou tiredly, looking away. "I assume you've reached a conclusion by now. You've been sitting stoic on my couch for ten minutes already. How much more time do you need?"

"I don't know if we're going to be friends," said Seto carefully. "We need to consider the possibility that I might want more than that, and that in such a situation, persisting with friendship won't work out."

"Well, have you ever felt attracted to a guy before?" asked Ryou dully. He was bracing himself now for an empty, emotionless analysis of what was going on between them. Apparently they were going to have to walk each other through this, or perhaps drag each other. It was a challenge to keep talking when all possible results of this conversation distressed Ryou. The only way Ryou kept going was by disassociating himself, working his mouth and limbs like a puppet on strings, becoming an improvisational actor trying to push the awkward scene along so they could commence the next act of their unrehearsed performance.

"I haven't been in this situation with anyone, male or female, so I can't exactly answer the question about being attracted to guys," said Seto coolly. "It's that I'm attracted to you, or so I believe, and that you just so happen to be a guy."

"I get it. That's not a big deal," said Ryou. He sat back in the sofa, emphasizing the wide gulf that had settled between them by pushing himself further away from Seto, as if he could fuse into the furniture or escape into the space between the cushions.

"You know," suggested Ryou, "you could just be confusing friendship and romantic love together because you don't have friends or lovers, and your mind has started to like, consolidate the two. Maybe in your own weird way, that's more efficient that trying to separate them. In that case, maybe we just need to set boundaries to make the distinction clearer…. Though I'll have to confess I've never mutually agreed to set boundaries with anyone before, so I'm not sure what it entails. I didn't think I'd ever need to define a relationship and apply rules to it. It seems kind of artificial, right?"

"I've already considered if this is a misunderstanding, some sort of confusion. That's why I kissed you, I guess. I thought that might answer the question."

"Did it?"

Ryou marveled at himself and his amazing composure. He was hollow, empty. The inclination of his body against the back of the sofa was the only thing keeping him prompted up in a seated position. If someone could tilt his seat over, he'd tumble directly out of it, limp, like a ball-jointed doll that could do nothing to arrest its fall because it was lifeless and unable to independently animate itself.

"No, because all I did was steal a kiss from someone who's ridiculously easy to steal kisses from," said Seto. He was obviously irritated, but most of the irritation seemed directed at himself and not Ryou. "I wouldn't call that much of an accomplishment or say that it really proves anything. Stealing kisses is more of prank than something meaningful. Indeed, you asked me if it was a joke, and honestly, it might as damn well have been. It's cowardly to steal a kiss from someone. So, I need to apologize for doing that."

And the only way Seto Kaiba knew how to apologize was to admit he was wrong, that he really ought to apologize, and then leave it at that. The exact words "I'm sorry" never did, and perhaps never would, cross his lips. The most he could manage was acknowledging that an apology was deserved without ever really delivering it.

"I get it," said Ryou again. Apparently he really 'got' Seto now, or was just very permissive and gracious in not obligating Seto to explain himself to such embarrassing extremes that Seto might resent.

"I won't do that again."

"I know."

"We should just go on like it didn't happen."

"But I think you just said that was impossible, didn't you? You said persisting with friendship never works out like this."

"Well, I don't know shit about friendship, Ryou. It might work out. What the hell do I know? Are you mad at me?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm a little mad."

And as he said it, Ryou realized it was true. He certainly wasn't happy with Seto at any rate. That was something Ryou knew for sure.

"I can't blame you for that," said Seto with a nod. "I won't ask you to forgive me. I don't need it. We can stop being friends, too. I don't need a forced friendship, either."

"Would you feel bad if I never spoke to you again?"

"I'm sure I'd get over it."

"So…yes?"

"I already feel bad _now_ , you idiot. So, yes, _of course_."

Ryou laughed a little at this, surprising even himself. Seto grumbled irately and stopped looking at Ryou, accepting that laughter and scorn were what he deserved if he bared his feelings so directly. The only thing that kept Seto seated was the unspoken assurance that Ryou wouldn't share what was happening between them right now with the world. Ryou might not be in love with Seto, but Seto could still trust Ryou enough to know that Ryou would respect Seto's immense pride. Indeed, it might embarrass Ryou more than Seto if anyone else knew about this, because everyone would doubt it was true and wonder why Ryou was inventing such outrageous lies about Seto all of the sudden.

"What if we tried this once more, but together this time?" asked Ryou, lips still faintly raised in the corners to form a shy smile, a smile that asked forgiveness for what he was saying even as it tried to make it appear that what he was saying was something relaxed and perhaps vaguely teasing and lighthearted in its intent. Seto met Ryou's eyes, opening displaying a slight uncertainty in his glance over whether or not Ryou was being serious or just continuing to make fun of Seto for Seto's impudence in stealing a kiss from him.

"I didn't expect you to be so insensitive, Ryou. This is undoubtedly a surprise," said Seto in disappointment. "I deserve to be mocked somewhat for my idiotic approach and my audacity, but that doesn't mean you aren't going to try my patience if you start saying these kinds things. Don't make this a damn joke. Maybe this helps you keep your distance, but I'm warning you that you're just going to piss me off if you keep it up."

"I'm not joking," said Ryou, the smile quickly wiped from his face. "I'm saying you can totally try to kiss me again. It's probably more useful for you if you are able to kiss me with less spontaneity, you know? Like, see how it really is."

"There's no point if you feel nothing back. I'm not planning to kick-start some unreciprocated bullshit between us. Seriously. I'd rather not know how I feel if all I'm doing is setting myself up for failure. Sometimes the truth isn't really worth discovering."

"But the problem is that there are repercussions, Seto. Like, I'm not going to be able to be around you anymore without thinking that friendship is only the beginning of what you're interested in, asking myself what you think about me in every word you say or gesture you make, wondering if maybe I might want the same thing you do now that it's been put before me as an option for where we might go. Unfortunately, you've sort of pulled me into this with you, you know."

Ryou intentionally refrained from mentioning that he'd had a crush on Seto beforehand, because for one, that crush had been based on nothing specific and didn't sound nearly as complicated as what Seto himself seemed to feel. Ryou's stupid schoolboy crush was just, like, what the heart did when it was bored. It was born from residual feelings of wanting to preform to Seto's standards and be depended on and respected by him. Ryou didn't imagine the crush was love, or that it had had anything to do with his deep feelings for Seto as a person or something. Seto sounded like he was potentially _in love_ with Ryou somehow, and Ryou was scared of that.

However, he and Seto had grown closer as friends. That had sort of been Seto's doing, of course, but anyway he'd allowed Ryou to know him in a way. How much could Ryou say that what he felt was purely the need to remain important and valuable to his respected chess professor when the lessons had ended? Hadn't he seen enough of Seto's more human, everyday side, to see Seto as a person? And hadn't the crush started well after they'd already become friends? When Seto had already made it clear that Ryou was important enough to retain as a friend, although Seto had none and no great reason to keep Ryou around as such?

"We definitely ought to try it again," said Ryou. "Otherwise, this will be an elephant in every room we share from here on out. If we don't want to date each other, then we can continue as before as friends. If one of us is for it and the other no, then we stop being friends. If both of us are for it, then…I guess we're…well…we could try."

"You think you might be for it."

"Uh, I mean, in theory, I think I might. Imagining dating someone like you is stupidly easy because you're a good-looking celebrity, and that makes you free game for people's imaginations. I knew who you were before I even transferred to Domino High, to be honest. But like, in actual practice, I'm not fully sure what I'll want. It's so much easier to like the idea of something than to really go out and experience it, you know? The idea of you is great. Actually being in a relationship—with you or anyone—isn't something I'm all that super prepared for. Plus, I kinda spent all the last school year convinced I was going to die alone and friendless, or, well, maybe not totally alone, but you get the picture…."

"I get it," said Seto, mirroring Ryou's own words back to Ryou.

"So, like, perhaps we should just get it over with, right? And then we'll let ourselves reflect, deliberate, and then share our conclusions within like a week or something."

"That's not a very romantic plan," said Seto coldly, "but note that I say that in full appreciation of the fact that you aren't getting sappy or sentimental on me over this."

"Well, it's not every day that you get to negotiate your relationships. I think most people are way more spontaneous about this stuff and just go with their gut. Or like, they follow their hearts I guess is how you're supposed to say it."

"Hormones and lust cloud people's judgments, and they say it's their hearts."

"Yeah, other people would probably have been ripping their clothes off by now and making delirious professions of love or something."

"And then regret it five hours later after they woke up."

"Other people probably wouldn't have made it back to the dinner tonight, just like, melted into each other's embrace and then run off saying the night was young and ought to be lived. Getting super poetic about how exhilarating love was and just, laughing at absolutely everything."

"Drunk and high on a fleeting burst of emotions and the novelty of a new object of affection, like fools who don't know shit about how their body chemistry is working against them."

"Other people probably wouldn't have had this entire conversation, openly communicating faults and the possibility of the relationship not working out. They'd already be snuggling on the couch and basking in each other's warmth."

"Only because the AC is set too high and encourages unnecessary closeness, which artificially promotes closeness on…other levels."

"Clearly this means we've got this way better figured out. We have a _plan_."

"It's the intelligent thing to do."

"And you're a genius, so you should know."

"I'm not a genius. But yes, I know."

There was a protracted pause. The deliberations were over, as were the chummy pats on the back Ryou and Seto gave each other in words for how brilliant and above weak, paltry things like basic, universal human emotions they were. For all their enunciations about how reasonable the plan was and how it was great to not be terribly sentimental, they remained constrained by doubt and a more than fleeting trepidation over what was going to happen.

Warily, and yet trying to make it look like the most ordinary thing in the world, Ryou took the initiative to stand and move closer to Seto. Ryou took a deep breath and let it out loudly, the general, forced-casual facial expression for "well…so…" when something uncomfortable must ultimately be resigned to and gotten underway.

"So, we should just, like, uh…whenever you're ready, I guess," said Ryou. He'd been the one to come over, so Seto was going to have to be the one to start the kiss. That was the only truly fair delegation of tasks.

And yet, the easy confidence with which Seto turned and positioned himself to face Ryou startled Ryou. Seto seemed relatively familiar with what he was doing, and Ryou wondered how this could be, when Seto had no reputation of being involved with anyone. Perhaps it was nothing but the normal, natural confidence with which Seto did absolutely everything, never doubting himself, rarely hesitating, even has he strode out in the unknowable.

Seto braced himself with his hands on the sofa, signifying he wasn't going to unnecessarily embrace Ryou or anything. Just a kiss. Only a quick kiss. Without a word, he leaned forward. Ryou automatically placed a hand on Seto's shoulder, but retracted it nervously. The intensity of the gaze directed at him from the normally cold, analytical eyes unnerved Ryou. If eyes were the windows to the soul, perhaps Seto didn't have one, because the expression they held was unreadable. It wasn't hard, nor was it totally unfeeling, but if Ryou had to describe it, he supposed it was that they were just so damn _focused_. Seto seemed to be watching Ryou like he was committing him to memory, like he was recording everything that transpired for revision and editing later. He'd replay this all alone somewhere, analyze every second, dredging up meaning from all the possible interpretations of each gesture, every half-considered look or murmured syllable of an uncompleted word. He'd watch, again, countless times in succession, Ryou's sudden recoil just now, and he'd ask himself why. He'd wonder what the hell he'd done to deserve that.

Not sure if he would chicken out if he left his eyes open, and also feeling it was rude if they weren't closed anyway, Ryou shut his eyes tightly the moment he got the impression that Seto was starting to lean in with intent. The silence in the room was amplified and, paradoxically, hummed. Perhaps it was the rush of blood surging to Ryou's face. Ryou could hear the faint drone of the laptop's fan in his bedroom because he'd forgot to turn it off before leaving, the dry slide and rustle of clothing shifting with movement, and the faint thud of footsteps from his upstairs neighbor who'd got up to go to the kitchen for some mysterious reason at 2am.

The variations in the shadow cast across Ryou's eyelids told him Seto was close now. The breath Ryou could feel drift across his face told him how much closer. Ryou leaned forward to kiss Seto, unable wait any longer. A nearly incapacitating nervousness welled up inside him at the contact of their lips, until Ryou had the very real fear that his teeth might begin to chatter. After a half second, lips still caught against Seto's, Ryou opened his eyes to see if Seto had closed his. Ryou didn't want to look like an idiot closing his eyes if Seto was openly staring at him.

Seto's eyes were open. _Shit._ Ryou felt embarrassed and pulled away, but there wasn't far to go, because Seto's hands had come up and were pushing Ryou back toward him. At the same time, Seto's eyes slipped shut. Ryou followed suit and kissed him with the renewed confidence that he wasn't being coldly judged for whatever shape his eyebrows might unconsciously take when he was kissing.

In pulling Ryou back just then, Seto had somewhat inadvertently turned the kiss from a quick, experimental testing of the waters into more of an expression of pent up passion and desire that was dangerously easy to lose oneself in. The one long kiss devolved into multiple kisses at all angles. At some point Ryou's arms came up and around Seto as well. The knots in both their chests tightened and yet promised that if they only got closer, only pressed themselves together more fervently, that the tension would relax and put them back at ease. The knots in their chests lied, however, for nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the two kissing just became increasingly more desperate in their closeness, not sure how or even if they could really stop.

Seto, being the better master of himself, was the first to come back around and resume control of his senses. His mouth was unpleasantly dry and his breath was rather heavy, but in his mind he was fully returned to himself. The abrupt realization that he'd begun the preliminary actions to pushing Ryou down with intention to climb on top of him was what had jolted him back just now. Seto was staring at Ryou questioningly, as thought this were Ryou's fault and Ryou ought to answer for it, even though Seto damn well knew it had been entirely Seto's own.

Grumbling, for there was nothing Seto excelled at more than inaudible grumbling when there was no-one to blame for his embarrassment, he turned back out to the rest of the room and leaned forward. He supported his head in his hands, not certain if he was keeping it up or holding it down incase it proved to be so empty it might float away. He quelled the urge, that insistent whisper through his mind, that he ought to stop hesitating and go for it. "Going for it" he knew to be a hideous suggestion that didn't come from either his heart or his head, but some rougher, more visceral place that possessed approximately zero fucking sense of discretion or place. Now was not the time to go for anything. Seto'd gone for far more than enough already.

Ryou clutched his chest like he was having a goddamn heart attack, which Seto considered to be laying things on a bit thick, but chose not to criticize Ryou for right now. Ryou probably wouldn't have registered that Seto had said anything anyway. Ryou appeared to still be struggling to collect himself, which Seto couldn't fault him for. Seto had probably crushed him. Punctured a fucking lung. Fucking killed him. Whatever. Ryou was probably slowly dying or something. So much for working out the relationship, then.

"I uh, well, I guess the physical aspect is there," said Ryou, voice not yet returned to full strength, but still trying to reassume control of the situation. Seto inadvertently smirked at it, which was the closest Seto ever came to being amused by anything, but Ryou didn't see. The flash was gone in less than a quarter of a second, and Seto was no longer facing him.

"So the plan is to wait a week or what?" asked Seto, brushing the hair from his eyes so he wouldn't look quite so disheveled when he left. "You said 'like' a week 'or something', but I'd rather have something I can schedule."

"A week, then."

"Where?"

"I have to decide everything?"

"Fine. But I'll just say my office, because I have one, and I can take the easy route and simply make you an appointment to see me."

"It's probably better than at home or school. I'm not sure I ever see you anywhere else, really. No point going anyplace out of the way."

"Then my secretary will contact you after I have a look at my appointments for next week."

"Good. My schedule should be pretty open. Or well, I don't really have a schedule at all. Just pick what works for you. You know what time school ends already."

"Okay," said Seto. Without looking at it, he reached back and took Ryou's hand, giving it a small squeeze before letting go and standing up. "I'll call tomorrow," he said. "I'll call actually, not the secretary. I can call you myself."

"Good," said Ryou again, looking down rather mystified at the hand that had been held in Seto's for such a brief moment. There was something more affectionate and dear about this gesture than even the kiss (or rather, kisses) had been, and it shook Ryou's resolve to remain passive and removed as it brought him back down into himself more now than he'd been for most of the night so far.

"Goodnight, then, Ryou," said Seto, inclining his head in farewell before going around the sofa and back to the door. "We'll talk."

"Goodnight," said Ryou back as he watched Seto leave. Ryou was happy his voice didn't crack as he said this. He wasn't sure how the hell he felt about anything else.

"Don't forget to lock your door," said Seto, now in the hall and looking back into the room one last time before departing. "Get up and lock it, Ryou. I can't lock it for you. I don't have keys."

Ryou remembered his father once telling him when he was little to lock the door or else he was going to let an axe-murderer into the house. Ryou had told him the axe-murder would just use the axe if he really wanted to come in. His father had said that an axe on a door was way louder than an axe through his sleeping skull, so at least Ryou'd stand a better chance if he locked the damn door. Ryou had then locked the damn door.

"That's right," said Ryou, hopping up and hurrying over with the keys that were on the credenza. He smiled nervously, apologetically, as he selected the proper one. "Who knows, maybe if this works out you'll have keys. Until then, I guess I have to do this myself."

Seto frowned as he considered this. "If you're suggesting I'm going to be in and out of here enough to need keys made," he said, "I must say I'm surprised. I hardly expected you to be so forward about that kind of thing, but if that's the kind of thing you expect…."

The smile fell from Ryou's face. "Oh god, that's not what I meant. I'm not sure I'm ready to think that far ahead right now."

Ryou looked at Seto anxiously, but saw that Seto was shaking his head with the faintest hint of a teasing smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't laugh at me," said Ryou, sighing and rolling his eyes and mimicking like he was thinking about slamming the door in Seto's face. Seto went along and caught the door before it closed, though he knew Ryou was not actually the type to slam doors in people's faces.

"I'm not laughing," said Seto plainly. His voice was clear and straightforward.

"Yes, you are" Ryou insisted. "In like, your weird, smug way where you barely smile and it's equivalent to laughing at me."

Seto shrugged and pretended to have no idea what Ryou was talking about.

"Goodnight, Ryou," he said again before finally turning to leave.

"Goodnight, Seto," said Ryou. The door shut and locked with a few quick clicks, and Seto went back down the stairs, this time with the full intention of going home for real. Ryou stupidly longed to detain Seto a moment longer, but had no good excuse for it. Ryou was still unable to tell if he might really be in love with Seto, or merely just attracted to and intrigued by him. Polluting one's ability to discern between those things with extended contact wasn't going to help resolve the matter, though.

But why was it all that crucial to be in love anyway if the body was clearly willing? Ryou frowned. He felt like he might be a terrible, shallow person. A week waiting to decide if he really wanted to involve himself with Seto was probably a good idea, right? It kept Ryou's reckless, idiotic side—otherwise referred to as his heart or something in approximation to it—from making any rash decisions that Ryou's more sensible brain and logical self would regret.

Ryou desperately hoped to not regret anything, but had the sinking suspicious that in matters of the heart, regret was not something once could easily avoid. There was no proper way to prepare for and control a relationship, though he [and Seto] toiled under the continued illusion that there just might be.

It was whatever, really. In a week they would know. In a week it would all be decided.

###### Notes:

Some nights your needy awkwardness game is so strong you gotta say goodnight to each other at least four times before you finally fucking leave. True story.


	32. The Interim

It was rare to see such an otherwise dull classroom lit so vividly in the setting sun. The light outside entered the room at a perpendicular angle and passed through a filter of atmosphere that cast it in orange and gold upon all it touched. Half the room was illuminated by this dying light, and glowed as though with fire. Ryou covered half his face with his hand to block it out, finding it interfered with his focus on the match. Seto feigned imperviousness.

Seto made a comment about flying away from a sunset once and looking out the window to see the clouds were like a pink-tinged mist between his plane and the ground. It hadn't been a great visual experience. The pink had been too brilliant, like antacid medicine, and merged through a hasty gradient with orange and then yellow as it approached the sun. Seto had considered the mix of colors to be garish. The pink haze was the most unsettling part, like a cheap effect in a shitty movie. Looking down on a sunset, Seto affirmed for Ryou, was much uglier than looking up at one. There wasn't enough texture at the tops of stratiform clouds to break up the hideous sheets of glowing color.

Ryou didn't really question why Seto had gone to such lengths to describe the displeasure that looking down on sunsets had given him. Ryou figured it was because he was taking so long to make his move on the board, and Seto was getting bored waiting. It had been five whole minutes since Seto had brought his rook forward, and Ryou hadn't yet decided on the best response. They hadn't timed the match, and that was starting to look like something of an oversight, because now the sun was going down, and there was probably still a good eight or ten turns left to the match before Ryou really began to feel his imminent defeat.

Ryou and Seto had agreed yesterday afternoon that while chess was not something they should talk about at the expense of all other subjects, they were still allowed to play the occasional game together. Ryou still enjoyed matches against Seto, though Ryou's questions grew fewer as his obligation to compete in tournaments diminished. Ryou had one tournament left, and then he could take it easy and just help the team in their preparations. There wasn't all that much to help them with, though. The school year was nearly over anyway.

A man, one of Seto's assistants who always showed up after school with paperwork and company updates, stuck his head into the classroom and announced something to Seto in a language that Ryou didn't speak. Ryou looked over and recognized the one called Isono. Slowly but surely, Ryou was beginning to learn these assistants' names. Seto himself taught Ryou because Seto was disappointed that Ryou hadn't picked many of them up yet. Seto had even got annoyed with Ryou over it, reminding him that these assistants were people Seto needed to have full confidence in, particularly in a crisis. It was a sign of respect to at least bother to know their names.

The match as it stood was adjourned for the second day in a row. Ryou recorded the positions and placed the paper in his school bag as Seto did the same and handed his paper to Isono to file away in a briefcase for him.

"Don't forgot, even if I'm not at school tomorrow, that our appointment is still in place for a quarter to five. Don't be late. I've only set aside fifteen minutes for it."

"Only fifteen minutes?"

"Well, how long is it supposed to take? If for some reason you have a speech prepared and need more than a quarter hour to give it, then we can schedule a follow up after. Although, from experience, the more words a person uses to explain to me how they reached their decision, the more likely it is that their reply will amount to little more than an elaborately drawn out 'no'."

"It's not that. It's just I found out this afternoon that I have to reschedule. It's actually better you planned something short, so you won't lose as much time."

"Why are you cancelling a day before? The appointment's been set for a week. I made you copy it down and everything."

"I know. The problem is my dad is going to pick me up from school tomorrow. They've almost finished the display about the Sea Peoples in the Ancient Egypt exhibit. It's just a small expansion on the end of the Rameses II section. Not much, really, but he wants me to see it and give him my opinion. Then, of course, every time we visit the museum, my dad wants to play senet on the reproduction of a board he keeps in his office. It's going to take all afternoon. I won't be home until late."

"I'll see what my schedule looks like the next day, then. A few free minutes shouldn't be hard to squeeze in."

"Thanks. I'm sorry about the last minute change."

"It's just delaying the inevitable. You could just as easily tell me a yes or a no right now really."

"I think we might have more to say than that."

"And yet, the longest explanations tend to preface the answers you think people won't like."

"This is more complicated than yes and no, Seto."

Seto didn't, or didn't wish to, agree, but chose not to rehash the subject because he had to go soon.

Despite the important business Isono had called Seto away for, however, Seto couldn't really be said to be in any particular hurry to depart. Ryou noticed how long Seto hung back, even after Ryou told him it wasn't necessary he stay, that Ryou could store the board and chess set himself. Instead of leaving, though, Seto did little, useless things like making sure the packs of pieces were sealed well and holding open the cupboard for Ryou as Ryou placed the supplies inside. It was stuff Ryou didn't really need Seto for, but didn't have an argument that would stop Seto without making it too uncomfortably clear what exactly Seto was really doing.

The truth was, Seto and Ryou had an intricate ballet always in motion between them now. They would speak, drag out interactions, and feign how easy it was to interact, and yet they never entered a certain generous bubble of impenetrable space that existed in the air between them, held there like emotional padding put in place to protect from a greatly feared risk of collision. If this distance were to be crossed, the unspoken rule of zero touching cast aside recklessly, who knew what volatile reaction might occur? Neither wished to be the one to set off the sequence of events, to be the one who'd breached the unwritten agreement that they would discuss the things simmering below the surface of each exchange at the decided date, in the chosen place, at the set time. Until then, Seto didn't even allow his shoulder to so much a graze the furthest layers of Ryou's long hair without arresting its movement and altering its course so that the physical distance was continuously maintained.

And yet, even though neither teen was getting anywhere near the other, Ryou still felt his pulse quicken when Seto approached the cupboard to take the door and hand Ryou the pouches that held the chess pieces. Seto, too, perceived the tension that increased in these moments. It was at such a point that Seto was convinced that if he and Ryou ultimately decided not to be together, then carrying on as friends wasn't going to work out. If Ryou wasn't interested, or if Seto chose to believe that his attraction for Ryou was just a misunderstanding, a crossing of signals if you would, the friendship was already doomed and couldn't be salvaged.

Ryou for his part agreed. By now it was an unspoken, mutual agreement that they'd settled upon. There was the very real threat that this week might be the last one in which Ryou and Seto ever spoke to one another.

Ryou walked home by himself later, taking the long way because it was growing too dark for shortcuts through the city. The remaining light outside was now gray and dim, transitioning into twilight as the sun dipped below the unseen horizon beyond the city. Streetlights flickered to life in rows along the streets, and Ryou kept close to them and the crowd, because night fell sooner down between the buildings than it did further up. His cellphone rang, though he hardly heard it as cars rolled by in the main thoroughfare he walked along. On the other end was Jounouchi asking Ryou why Ryou hadn't shown up to the math study group they'd agreed to go to together. Ryou apologized and admitted that he'd forgot. He didn't say how he'd forgot. Only Seto, Ryou, and Isono knew Seto and Ryou had been playing chess up until fifteen minutes ago.

When Ryou reached his home, his father called him and asked him if he had any friends who were totally ignorant on the Sea Peoples of the ancient Mediterranean. Ryou flatly informed him that all his friends were ignorant on this subject, because the Sea Peoples were not something taught in the public school curriculum. This, however, was an exaggeration.

Surprising enough, Anzu and Yuugi probably knew about the Sea Peoples, because as soon as they'd realized that the spirit of the Sennen Puzzle was a pharaoh, they'd gone and converted themselves into mini experts of Ancient Egyptian history. Ryou had escorted them and Jounouchi through the relevant museum exhibits himself, and even got his father, the director, to bring his friends to the storerooms to see artifacts that weren't on public display. Their genuine interest and curiosity had given Ryou's father the impression that Ryou's friends were much more into history than the average teenager. He was even a little proud Ryou had made a few worthwhile friends for once, kids who were intellectually stimulated by learning and history and didn't just goof around playing games all day like everyone else their age. Indeed, his father had become an immediate fan of Yuugi Motou and cheered for him during tournaments just because he had so much respect for the teen's appreciation for ancient history. He even established a standing rule with the ticket office that Yuugi and anyone he brought with him could visit the museum for free, even the special exhibits, so long as Yuugi tried to stop by the director's office for a game of senet or goose while he was there.

These factors considered, it had only been natural that Ryou's father had first asked Ryou if there was anyone Ryou knew who _wasn't_ familiar with the Sea Peoples. It only seemed natural his friends all just might be.

Ryou's father explained that he wanted to know the impression of the new display as seen through the eyes of someone without previous knowledge of the subject matter. Obviously everyone at the museum knew the Sea Peoples and could only extol the eye-catching visible aspects of the display and the accuracy of the information. Ryou's father wanted to know how it would appear to virgin eyes.

Ryou joked that finding a virgin among his friends was another matter entirely, and was then immediately appalled with himself for having said so. Clearly, being on the cusp of a relationship with someone, a relationship that would undeniably entail a certain physical closeness distinguishing it from pure friendship, was polluting Ryou's thoughts. He started to apologize for it, but lucky for Ryou, his father simply joked back that a virgin would be even better for testing out the Mesoamerican rites and rituals exhibit under renovation afterwards. They could kill two birds with one stone. Or just one bird. A virgin. With a hatchet. Ryou should bring gloves.

Ryou laughed, but then felt a sudden jolt of awareness as he wondered if his father's sense of humor was going to be a liability if or when the man ever had a chance to meet Seto Kaiba on more familiar ground than that of a museum director requesting a generous donation from one of KaibaCorp's charitable organizations. What would Seto think? How would Seto react? Ryou's father was kind of aggravating, in a way. Sure, he fit in at the museum surrounded by his own kind and his beloved antiquities, but outside the man's realm, a realm he rarely ventured beyond these days, Ryou's father demonstrated the same lack of social finesse in which he'd unconsciously trained his son. It'd always been somewhat tragically unfortunate that Ryou's father had more in common with his staff than he did his higher-ups in the board of trustees, so communicating well with management had always been a challenge for him. Seto Kaiba, being forged of pure managerial skill and executive power, was highly unlikely to hit it off with Mr. Bakura, and the sad fact of the matter was that this misfire would be mostly Mr. Bakura's fault rather than Seto's.

Constant questions like these about how Seto was going to fit into his life seemed to cross Ryou's mind constantly this week. Ryou saw his life and everything he did now from the outside looking in, analyzing it all and asking himself how certain details might be perceived by a third party only just entering into it for the first time. Sometimes, Ryou had the impression that he was slowly becoming paranoid from thinking so much about it. He was also suspecting that maybe there was something wrong with him he couldn't see, that perhaps he wasn't normal, and that Seto would realize it and think Ryou was a loser. Or even worse than a loser, that Seto might realize Ryou was boring. A waste of time. Futile.

Just the other day, Ryou had spent two hours at Kame Game nerding over RPGs with Yuugi and a total stranger. While listening to himself defend the boxier but more straightforward user interface for Monster World before the system update last month, Ryou'd considered distantly all the ways he could be judged for this conversation. It wouldn't just be judgment cast on Ryou's nerdy interests or capacity to accept change in program displays, but on Ryou as a person it was worth another unrelated person's time to direct love and affection towards. Ryou began to ask himself if he was really even worth all the fuss.

Ryou was just a normal guy, unimpressive, kind of boring really, with largely sedentary hobbies. He hadn't asked to be fallen in love with by anyone. Ryou's life, only recently reconstructed from what the spirit of the Sennen Ring had molded it into, was built around Ryou's own personal interests and idiosyncrasies, without sparing much thought for the fact that he might be called upon to share it all with someone. It seemed like a lot of work to disrupt what he had in order to involve another person intimately. There was always the question of if the other person would respect what was already there, or if they would try to change it drastically.

On the phone, Ryou told his father it was short notice, but that he'd see if anyone was free tomorrow to visit the museum with him.

"Warn me if you get Seto Kaiba to come. In that case, we'll call it a private exhibition, and I can buy canapés with the museum event budget," said Ryou's father, his voice somewhere between bitter sarcasm and total seriousness. He wanted it to be clear that he was unquestionably prepared to do the exact thing he was currently joking about. "I think we have some banners with the KaibaCorp logo on them around here from the game technology exhibit when he released those solid holograms. Or was it the new duel disks? Anyway, we'll make him feel right at home. You've been to his house. Pretty sure he's got ceiling-to-floor banners everywhere of his face and company logo."

"Dad, I'm not bringing Seto Kaiba," said Ryou with a tired sigh. "I promise. Please don't put up banners thinking I'm going to surprise you."

"But do you think he knows about the Sea Peoples, Ryou? This could be very educational for him. Plus, he'll get to know the Bakura family business. Maybe he'll set up an endowment? We could appoint him or his brother to the board of trustees. Their father was an honorary member. The Nazarí chess board in Game History came from Gozaburo, as well as an entire collection of medieval weapons bequeath to the museum in his will. If the Kaiba brothers contribute funding as a corporation, we can maybe offer discounts to company employees and their families, which would make the agreement reciprocal. There are many more perks than good publicity in substantial donations."

"Since when do we have a family business, Dad?" asked Ryou incredulously. "City museums are not family businesses."

"History, Ryou. That's the family business. Also, single-handedly keeping the museum from growing as ancient and obsolete as the antiquities contained within it."

"Dad, I'm not going to abuse my friendship with Seto Kaiba just so you can fulfill your dream of getting the outlying exhibit spaces renovated. You yourself told me no-one gets past the big draws or main event floor. Who cares if the introductory text on the Sumerian exhibit has the typo 'Ancient Summer' twice in the English translation? If no-one complains, it means no-one's reading it. That's exactly what I remember you telling me when you allocated the renovation funds to the Egyptian and Games exhibits instead."

"There's a lot more upgrades we need, Ryou. Remember that jar I told you about? That alone will cost 200. Now, I'll settle with half a million, but I'm sure you can schmooze the entire million. A million is nothing between a Kaiba and his friend."

"We won't be friends for long if I treat him like an extension of my checking account," said Ryou with a heavy sigh. "I told you. We just play chess. That stuff about us being super _close_ …it's not true. We have nothing in common but chess."

"Find something," said Ryou's father simply. "A Kaiba is a good friend to have. Trust me, I deal with these kind of people all the time directing the museum. The board of trustees is full of your upper echelon-types contributing to society by raising funds for museums and dreaming up 'visions' for us to have that sound flowery and nice on paper. Meanwhile, here on the ground, the only vision I see is that we cover our operating costs and draw enough people in to not go under. The Egyptian duel monsters exhibition last year was a boon, a real boon for us publically. I'd thought Seto Kaiba would at least bother to attended the grand opening of our Egyptian Gods exhibit after, seeing how so much of his Battle City Tournament was tied so closely to those three cards. He always seems to find some way to evade us, though."

"Dad…."

"I know, I know, you just want to play chess and keep your head down. I get that. But one day, you have to wake up to the real situation of life and see that having friends in high places is a privilege that shouldn't be squandered. The situation you're in now, the people you are in proximity to, this might not ever happen again. All you've ever known is school, but once school finishes, this kind of thing becomes much harder."

"I'm not thinking like that about my friends."

"I know you aren't. That's why I'm putting the thought in your head now, making you a bit more conscientious about the future. You'll thank me in ten years."

Ryou grumbled something non-committal and evasive, choosing not to accept the reality of how his father saw the world, because that reality was dreary and a bit unsettling, as it reminded Ryou of the transient nature of life and of how much one eternally stood to lose at any moment. His father, understandably, found security in imaging that one could be prepared for anything so long as they expected the worse from everything. The man was forever mindful of the need to meticulously make up the deficit of preparedness that had been left in the wake of the one time in which the absolute worst thing, the one thing Ryou's father hadn't even known how to prepare for, had happened.

"When do you graduate again?" asked Ryou's father after deeming he'd completed the obligatory waste of time that was going back and forth with a Ryou who was intensely dodging the chosen topic with half answers and a whole of "yeah, mh-hm, yeah, yeah I see, yeah"s.

"Three weeks. The 18th is the ceremony."

"There's a shipment from Baraja the 15th, but I think it might be processed in two days. Maybe I'll have time. At least for the first half."

"It's fine. Really. The ceremony is super boring. They've already walked us through it, like, what all's going to happen and stuff. It's a huge waste of time just to make people who like photos and stuff happy. I'm only going because Yuugi's giving a speech, since he's the King of Games or whatever. You know how it is."

"I'll try to be there. We're at the front of the alphabet, right? I won't have to stay long."

"That sounds good," said Ryou. They both knew Ryou's father most likely wouldn't make the ceremony. Still, this sort of weird, conversational gymnastics was necessary so as to ensure Ryou couldn't act like he'd got the impression his father didn't care about his son's life events and accomplishments. It was that his father was busy. It was that Ryou ought to understand.

And Ryou did understand. He understood it very well. When he told his father that the ceremony was boring, that it was a waste of time, that he really didn't have to come, Ryou meant it.

"Hey, dad, I'm going to go to sleep now, okay? If you're done, I mean. If you don't have anything else to tell me about," said Ryou after a break in the conversation signaling the call was nearing its end. "I'll see who's free tomorrow. And I swear, it will not be Seto Kaiba. I know for a fact the most time Seto has free for tomorrow afternoon is fifteen minutes, so he's definitely not going to be able to make it. There won't be any surprises."

"Since when did you ever try to surprise me, Ryou?"

"Never. It's impossible."

The call segued at last into its closing act of polite leave-taking remarks and promises to see each other promptly tomorrow at the agreed upon time. Ryou hung up and looked at his phone. There was a missed call that he'd ignored earlier from Seto. He'd let it ring out instead of declining it directly. Seto would've understood that Ryou was busy if Ryou had turned his call down, but even the slightest, faintest pinprick of damage to Seto's mood was not something Ryou wanted to be the cause of. Ryou wasn't scared Seto would be mad or blame him. Ryou simply didn't want to decline the call directly. It was hard to explain exactly why that was.

For one of the few times ever in his and Seto's new tradition of talking on the phone, Ryou called Seto. Seto answered with a curt greeting. In the background, there was the sound of a flurry of keystrokes being preformed. Ryou asked if Seto was busy. This was a ridiculous question, because doing work didn't necessarily make Seto busy. The regularity with which Seto proofread proposition summaries, evaluated fund allocation requests, and interpreted data collected in test runs of his pet projects, made work in general something of a hobby for him. Seto was merely occupied. There was very little that was bustling or busy about it. None of this stressed him as though it were work.

"You've basically checked out of school these past few weeks," said Ryou lightly, casually, after a few minutes of listening to Seto explain the details of what he was currently working on and which Ryou couldn't even understand or remember if he tried. "Showing up every other day, not staying until the end. Are you…planning to graduate with the class?"

"No. I've done the exams already."

"You did?"

"Yes, in case something came up. It would've been a logistics and security nightmare, taking the exams with the class at some testing center or other. I passed them, too, so I'm done. The class can graduate without me. My scores and grades aren't going to be included in the class total. I don't want to have to give any motivational speeches. I'll leave that to Yuugi Mutou."

"Then are you planning to go to school at all for the next few weeks?"

"Sure, I might."

"Why?"

"For the same reason I've been going most of this week when I didn't have to."

"…To not get expelled?"

Seto scoffed. "Are you some kind of idiot, Ryou?"

Ryou didn't answer. He silently wished he were enough of an idiot to not understand Seto's implication. Instead, he asked if Seto was familiar with the update of the Monster World user interface, and that was what they talked about for an hour instead. Ryou had a lot of opinions on this subject, and a lot of long reasons for those opinions, so, instead of anything much too sentimental, he filled the conversation with that.

###### Notes:

Uh, when it comes to Ryou's dad, the only thing that matters is that he's the Domino City Museum's director in this fic. Ever since the manga made the weird claim that the man individually owned the city's entire namesake antiquity museum, and ever since Dark Side of Dimensions did… _its thing_ …I assume Ryou's father can be whoever the hell I want him to be. Pretty sure not even Kazuki Takahashi has any fucking idea, so we're just gonna go with "current Domino City Museum director" here.

Also, why is Ryou's dad such a weirdo? Uh, because Ryou has to get his creep factor from somewhere.


	33. When Negotiation Stalls

The board had just been set up, and it was still Ryou's turn. Ryou knew he was in trouble. Though he'd castled with good reason earlier in the match, the king was more exposed than Ryou liked on the diagonal. Ryou knew Seto was probably planning to exploit that soon. Seto liked to let Ryou trap himself behind his pawns and his rook, checkmating him there by coordinating a combination of diagonal moving pieces and previously unloosened rooks. For this reason, Ryou had tried to limit Seto's development in the top left of the board, hoping it might lessen the risk of Seto's favored long ranged, revealed threat styled tactics, which he always seemed to go for more against Ryou than anyone else.

So far, Ryou had held his own and taken proper precautions to avoid the usual mistakes he made when playing against Seto. Already, Seto had been forced to pause a few times to consider the next move, which was something of an achievement. That part of the match was over now, though. They were nearing the end of the game, which with Seto always fell like playing through a series of curtains that were always being swept back to reveal previously unforeseen dangers. At this point, the mood of the match could change in an instant, from Ryou frantically trying to read Seto's moves and forestall the inevitable, to Ryou suddenly hyper aware of Seto's plans and being powerless to stop it as their form became clear.

Thus, Ryou concerned himself more with questions of "how?". How was Seto going to come down on him? How could Ryou interfere and delay? How much of a chance did Ryou still stand?

"I can't wait another day," said Seto across the board, his gaze having drifted lazily to the windows as he'd waited for Ryou to hurry up and analyze the position. It was obvious Ryou had not gone over the match in his free time.

"Then I should hurry up and decided my move already."

"I don't mean the game. You don't have enough material left to bring down my defense, and next turn I'm going to threaten your queen and your rook. You'll have to exchange the queen, because if I take the rook I'll have checkmate, and you'll lose. After that, I have both bishops and both rooks, so you won't stand a chance for long. You'll spend the rest of the game running, unable to attack. Even if you try to run now that I've told you, it's just the beginning of the end for you. You've already lost. Once I take your queen, my material advantage wins."

"Ah, yes," said Ryou, looking over the board and seeing everything Seto had said play out in his mind in an instant, knowing it was all true, "then I guess the game is over. Why did we even adjourn yesterday if you already knew you'd won?"

Seto didn't answer. His expression was grave, which was to say it was fairly normal and unchanged from the expression he always wore.

"I'm going to tell you now what I want," said Seto. "The lunch break is half an hour, twice as long as I had scheduled to see you this afternoon, so there's no point not to do this here."

"But this is school. What if there's someone listening? Security here isn't great. Remember the reporter that fell off the awning two weeks ago?"

Seto smirked at the memory of the man's horrorstruck face as he'd plummeted down headfirst past Seto in the rain. Seto became serious again before speaking. "No-one cares enough about our chess conversations to follow us here, Ryou. My informants in the press have told me that you and I have a reputation for being a huge waste of time when chess comes up. We're effectively boring people away from us."

"Well, that's kind of cool to know," said Ryou, impressed. "Little do they know the story of the year is about to go down, punctuated by that boring chess."

"Also, I don't really care if anyone's listening right now," Seto continued. He glanced to the door a second anyway, just out of paranoid habit. "If a student finds out, no-one will believe it. If there's a reporter, we can get them silenced if they have proof. As there are already rumors about us, people will just assume it's more of the same if there's no proof."

"There are already rumors?"

"Of course. You're too much of a pretty boy for there not to be."

"I'm the pretty boy?" asked Ryou with a laugh. Everything was at peak hilarity when one was absolutely terrified. "You should talk. You're the one with the beauty regimen. Didn't you do an advertisement for a cologne once? You were like a tech gladiator or something. Silver painted models dressed like angels flew around in the background. It was terrific."

"They were dragon nymphs, and no, I don't have a regimen; I have a public image. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject."

Ryou sighed and let his laughter fade. "Fine," he admitted, "you got me. So…do you want to tell me first? Or do I tell you? Or do we count to three?"

Seto got directly to the point. "Friendship is not sufficient," he said bluntly. "And I think you already know that, too."

Ryou flinched at Seto's abruptness. "Why?"

"I'm not really overtly concerned with why," Seto admitted. "It is what it is. Maybe it's my competitive nature, but I'd prefer to be closer to you than everyone you know, and that's it, really. Friends aren't close enough. I'll have you with me, or I'm prepared to not have you at all. I'm not of a mind to share."

"Oh," said Ryou, shrinking a bit at the sharp intensity of Seto's gaze and the chopping cadence of his words, each syllable snapped along evenly in the pace of a military march. The resolve infused in Seto's stern pronouncement was intimidating. Ryou wasn't sure how he'd be able to follow it. The way Seto spoke, it sounded as if everything had been decided for both of them and that Ryou should just agree. By speaking with such frankness and confidence, Seto had made what he said real. He'd molded reality into the shape he insisted it take, and Ryou was expected to follow along.

"And you?" asked Seto sharply when Ryou was not forthcoming with an answer. Seto seemed to pulse with energy while sitting perfectly still, as though waiting for some cue, some sign that he could spring forward at last.

"I'm embarrassed to say I want to talk to my dad first," said Ryou quietly. It was true. He was embarrassed. It had only occurred to him yesterday that all of this might be something that involved his father. Sure, his father wasn't the determiner of Ryou's life or anything, but dating Seto wasn't the same as dating any other classmate. Seto was Seto Kaiba. There were other factors. "You're not a normal person, you know," Ryou explained. "If we…well, it's going to affect him, too. I'm not you. I have people to answer to and consider beyond myself, who will be affected."

Seto hunched slightly, his quivering energy of before dampening. "You can just say no," he said. "No reason to use your father as an excuse."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm actually pathetically lovesick over you these days. You're right. I want really bad to…" Ryou faltered, not sure how he was going to word something so needy and pathetic in a way that would come off as neither of those two things, "…to start this."

"Then what does it matter what your father thinks? You're your own person. Make your own choice already."

"It matters more than you know. More than I want it to."

Seto cleared his throat and then leaned forward, resting both lean forearms on either side of the chessboard between him and Ryou. He noted that Ryou didn't retreat, didn't scoot his chair back slightly to re-establish their distance. Ryou kept exactly where Seto's unflinching gaze held him.

"You like me," said Seto. "You're interested."

"Yes."

"Could you be involved with me? Clearly you want to."

"I…don't know yet."

"How can you not fucking know _yet_?"

"I have to see."

"With your father, of course. And if your father says no? You're going to follow what the fuck he says and not what you, an individual capable of making his own decisions about his own life, want to do?"

"It depends on how he says the no…or how he says yes."

The two long hands on either side of the board clenched into fists as Seto tried not to lose his temper. "Why can't you give me a straight answer?" he demanded. He turned to look down at the board as he spoke, dramatically incapable of meeting Ryou's eyes. He wanted it to be plenty clear to Ryou just how frustrating Ryou was being.

Ryou, meanwhile, watched Seto with an apologetic expression, already too well accustomed to Seto's fits to be afraid that Seto might lash out at him physically. Sure, Seto talked a lot about flipping over desks and tables and knocking people to the ground, but how many times had he ever needed to follow through? Seto's anger was primarily verbal, inclined towards intimidation tactics instead of delivering on threats of violence. It was about getting his way by pushing people to do what he wanted without actually coming off as a crazy person who might attack someone arbitrarily, because being a crazy person was a reputation Seto did no wish to resurface in the public mind. Although Seto was fully capable of physically assaulting a person if need be, he tried not to be the one to strike first. The older you got, the worse that kind of childish tantrum throwing looked.

And anyway, Ryou's actions didn't beg violence. That wasn't the type of battle he and Seto ever fought, so physical intimidation wasn't the type of weapon to use. It was like whipping out a gun in the midst of a political debate in order to add salience to a point: it was uncalled for and unnecessary. Only a crazy person would consider it. Seto was no longer than particular sort of crazy person.

"If you're concerned that I'm all talk or delusional and that we're going to just experiment with this and then drift apart over the break or once you start university…I'll have you know I've considered that," said Seto, keeping his voice even through a tremendous force of will. It was hard to outline for Ryou something so clearly obvious, but Seto tried. He knew it was important to reassure people of your intentions, even if you thought those intentions were apparent and went without saying.

"If you want me to promise to involve myself with you forever and other such bullshit, I literally can't. Not even if you really need to hear it. Things prove that they can last by actually lasting, not by promising tirelessly how much you hope they might. We will take steps to prevent circumstances coming between us if we decide to continue in spite of them when they arise. Even if you were to be accepted in a school in another city, it wouldn't be impossible or even very hard to overcome that. Though, honestly, I know for a fact you've only applied to local universities, so I'll never have to prove you this, will I?"

"I applied to local schools to be near my father."

"I figured as much. It's just a happy accident that it keeps you near my base of operations, too, I guess."

"But where will you study?" asked Ryou with the sudden realization that he didn't know.

"I have a job, Ryou," Seto reminded him peevishly. "I don't need a degree. The executive board isn't going to be happy with me dividing my time like that, anyway, at least not as a full time student. I've also already got an honorary one lined up for the future from Domino University. They're planning to grant it to me in a few years when it's not so weird that I've just finished high school. It's really more to get them some publicity and the ability to claim me as an honorary alumni, though. I don't need it."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"And one more thing, Ryou."

"Yes?"

"Stop changing the subject."

Ryou smiled shyly, guiltily, and looked away. He reached out on a nervous impulse and began reordering the pieces on the board between them, which was properly framed on every side by Seto except on Ryou's own. Seto watched Ryou's movements, tracking them unmoving with only his eyes like he was reading a book or a computer screen. For a tiny moment, Ryou hesitated with the bishop and knight. He often confused them for fractions of a second when he wasn't thinking about what he was doing. It didn't matter how many times Ryou astutely studied a chessboard or how accurately he could hold his positions and projected moves in his mind's eye. He always messed up the starting order of the pieces when he didn't pay attention.

"Are you really going to let your father decide this sort of thing?" asked Seto as Ryou lined up a handful of pawns on Seto's side of the board. "Don't you realize that's ridiculous?"

"He's not getting to decide," said Ryou. "I just need to let him know. I need to see what he says."

"I don't see how his opinion matters."

Ryou wanted to tell Seto, plainly, that this was because Seto didn't have a father, at least not anymore, and that it wasn't Ryou's fault that the last parental figure Seto'd had hadn't been all that great. By now, Seto had spent far too long depending on himself for everything a parent should've provided him with. Seto didn't answer to anyone, didn't bow to any authority but that of the free market. There was no way Seto was really going to understand.

Maybe Ryou should've just asked Seto to see it from the point of view of Ryou's father instead? That might've been easier for Seto to grasp, as he was something of a father figure to his little brother. The thing was, Ryou already knew what Seto would say. He'd insist Mokuba could do whatever the hell Mokuba wanted. Seto was Mokuba's guardian, not his master. Then, he'd pretend there was no-one terrible enough who Mokuba would be stupid enough to date. Mokuba was too smart for that. Also, if Mokuba really wanted something, he'd just do what he wanted, even if Seto disagreed.

Basically, Seto would be totally out of touch with how much of his opinion determined his little brother's decisions. He had no perception of how much Mokuba, who looked up to and depend on Seto, would value Seto's input when making a decision about something that would have repercussions for Seto. No-one really served a similar function in Seto's life, so Seto was often blind to the power he held over Mokuba's own.

"Maybe this won't work if you have to refer to your father for everything like a child," said Seto spitefully. Swiftly, he sat back, out of Ryou's way as Ryou began assembling the first rank of pieces on Seto's side of the board. Seto would now deny them even that mild level of close proximity, sore as he was about what Ryou had told him. "I sort of doubt your father would even care, honestly. What does it matter to you how anything affects him when he's clearly not super interested in how what he does affects you?"

Limited but potent and exceedingly private information about Ryou's father had been told to Seto in confidence by way of a few scattered remarks and highly implicative silences. Seto had just betrayed that confidence now. Seto knew such a comment as had just been made, rife with pitiless judgment, wasn't the greatest option in his list of things to say. But Seto was mad at Ryou and Ryou's father, both. He wanted to say something that might make Ryou feel bad about himself, that might make Ryou reflect on and regret what Seto perceived as Ryou's childish hemming and hawing. Now was the time to be decisive, and Ryou needed to see that. The last thing Seto was prepared to do was wait an age for Ryou to resolve himself to what he did or did not feel by vote of some goddamn committee.

Needless to say, Seto's barbed comment worked terrifically. Ryou didn't have to think long before deciding he was very much done with this conversation and how it had turned, and he stood up. Without a word, without even an expression on his face as it hardened, he turned to go.

Seto was shocked Ryou had taken action so quickly, and sat back a little more to look up at him, Seto's brain only slowly connecting what he was seeing with what was indeed happening. He started after, astounded and speechless, as Ryou forcibly took up his book bag from the seat next to him and stormed from the room. Half the pieces of the chessboard toppled over when Ryou accidentally nudged the table, but Ryou made no effort to pick up a single one. In mere moments, he was gone.

In a weird way, Seto had somewhat expected this. On the other hand, he'd been hoping Ryou would fight with him directly instead of making the exacerbating move to leave. If Ryou had stayed, Seto could've argued and persuaded, outfoxed him in rhetoric until Ryou was forced to see Seto's side and make a choice that Seto could hold him to. Then, Seto wouldn't have been the one left like he was now, so awkwardly exposed after having brought the two of them to this point and then become some idiot who couldn't get a guy to return mutual affection to him.

And of course, then there wouldn't be, so painfully obvious, the sensation that Seto had take a chance and lost. Seto had failed.

This was not a battle. It was not part of a war. And yet, Seto couldn't help but see it as a competition. Ryou had slighted him, Seto had retaliated, and then Ryou had swept out of the room, dealing Seto a blow that stung and yet simultaneously denied Seto the right to answer it.

Seto's first instinct was to strike back. His second instinct was to try to convince himself not to strike back. So far, he couldn't think of any reason not to.

There was a loud crash as the chessboard and its remained pieces were thrust aside, hitting the wall with a deafening bang and a clatter to the floor. Ryou, who by then had turned a corner and stopped to collect himself in private, immediately dropped all notions of trudging guiltily back into the room and apologizing. Seto's deafeningly loud, brisk step rang down the hall heading in the opposite direction, disappearing shortly beneath the sound of a stairwell door being thrust open with unrestrained violence and the flurry of racing steps down the stairs to the lower floors.

After lunch, Seto did not appear in class. Ryou supposed this was because, as far as Seto was probably concerned, he no longer had any reason to bother. As of yet, Ryou couldn't really say if Seto was right.

###### Notes:

Zero.


	34. Sea Peoples of the Ancient Mediterranean

The building was massive, a veritable monolith dedicated to their fair city by its plentiful and (when it politically behooved them) generous benefactors. Through its Doric columned entry, it reigned over its assorted patrons, from scuffling, disinterested students on school field trips, to the distrait, meandering tourists and the engrossed frowns of the true history aficionados. To these visitors and more, the city's most dignified space presented itself as a gift, a beacon of civilization, with all its morsels of information and prized artifacts from the past packaged in an austere, granite-faced box with no need of a bow.

It was the one and only, unmistakably huge, Domino City Museum. And yet, Ryou couldn't begin to count how many times his father had lamented to him that he wasn't sure if where he worked was indeed a museum, or just the city's oversized attic space that wished it could die and be reborn an amusement park.

"Can you see what I mean?" ask Mr. Bakura, motioning down a darkened corridor lined with tiles and downscaled plaster copies of famous frescos from various ancient tombs of the Egyptian Middle Kingdom. "It's past noon, but this room is dark compared to the corridor. When you come in from the outside corridor—here, just follow me in for a moment, it won't take long—you are blind because the light is too weak. Now, with gemstones and jewelry, limited, focused lighting makes sense, because jewelry is brilliant, but walls…."

Whatever else Mr. Bakura was going to say wasn't entirely worth hearing, as his opinion had already been expressed and the matter of the gemstones was just an illustration. Unfortunately, when faced with a captive audience, particularly if one was a new face, the man ruined every point he made by being a bore and prone to ranting.

"As you can probably tell, it's supposed to simulated the mysterious atmosphere of an Egyptian tomb in here. The visitor is supposed to feel like they're discovering a 'lost' tomb. To be fair, this is popular with children and engages them visually, but children never stop to read anything. Those who care to read and learn are instead _punished_ in this light. On top of that, I've personally counted ten grammatical errors in the English and Spanish translations alone. The last time these plaques were updated was more than ten years ago. No-one cares. That's the problem. There's a jar in the next room with two different dates for it depending on which language you read it in. How does that even happen?"

"I agree, that's super embarrassing," said Honda. Ryou said nothing because he'd been hearing about the infamous jar ever since the first time he and his father had visited the museum together. Mr. Bakura had noticed it then, and hadn't forgot about it since.

"Even more ridiculous is the excavation room. We'll see it in a moment. It's supposed to show you what a tomb excavation looks like, but it's as dark as a dungeon. That doesn't make sense, because why would archaeologists dig in the dark?"

Mr. Bakura paused and waited a touch too long for Honda's late nod in agreement before continuing. It was highly possible Honda had been nodding off instead of affirming having heard anything. Ryou nudged him discreetly just to be safe.

"We use a lot of light because we don't want to damage any artifacts. Imagine walking through your home during a power outage, and you stub your toe. That is your own home that you live in and walk through every single day. Now imagine it was a thousand-year-old clay bowl, and you just chiseled it into a thousand pieces of broken rubble because you weren't working with the proper illumination to quickly distinguish a clay surface from another of the hundred of rocks you've been seeing for the past four hours."

While Ryou, who'd been on this enlightening journey through everything wrong with the museum before, wanted nothing more than to wander away, he knew it wasn't properly humane of him to leave Honda to suffer alone. Ryou already knew every error and defect of the entire building down to the punctuation marks in the exhibit pamphlets. His father hadn't failed to report a single one to Ryou over the occasional phone call or visit home. Mr. Bakura had recorded most of them in the first few months after he'd started working in the museum, but when he brought them up to the governing board, they'd told him they were already aware of most of the problems, since visitors and staff had been leaving comments for years. Correcting the mistakes and upgrading would cost time and money, and two popular exhibits would have to be temporarily closed in the meantime. The museum couldn't afford it, even in the off seasons, because there weren't enough donors, and their largest endowment was about to run out in a few years. The only serious business the museum saw now was through visiting exhibitions, which cost nearly as much to put on as they made in profit, but were the only thing most people came to see.

After a nearly two-hour preamble on the state of the museum as a whole (entirely justifying Ryou's insistence to Honda that Honda put aside the entire afternoon for the visit), Mr. Bakura at last made his way to the short section of wall dedicated to the Sea Peoples, which was what he'd originally convened them all here to witness.

"I want you to read this information, Hiroto, and tell me if you feel sufficiently educated by the experience," said Mr. Bakura. His arms were wide, opened towards the small display as if he hoped to embrace it in a proud, paternal manner. He was so happy Honda knew nothing about the Sea Peoples. He was so glad to be able to see his staff's hard work teach someone something new right in front of him.

"Pay close attention to the extra details in the illustrations," Mr. Bakura added with a hinting tone and a wink. "These people were mysterious, but also very important in ancient history. They came close to destroying Egypt itself, which is no small feat. Some people think they might've caused the collapse of civilization throughout the Aegean region in the Late Bronze Age. And yet, for all they did, we aren't sure who they even were. We tend to only ever hear about them from the people they attacked, you see."

"I…see…" said Honda. He assumed a serious, studious expression as he observed the display before him and attempted to make himself impressed with it and to learn. Behind him, Ryou glanced over the text and objects curiously, having never seen many of them before. None of the Bronze Age artifacts displayed were proven to be particular to any of the Sea Peoples, but instead had been put there, as Ryou's father clarified it, to provide visitors with a draw. People were drawn to curious items lit beneath glass. They could care less about walls of text if the accumulation of shiny and strange stuff did not capture their attentions first.

There were also a few scaled down reproductions of famous inscriptions that mentioned the Sea Peoples, each accompanied by zoomed in sketches of those inscriptions to make them easier to read and appreciate the details. Ryou asked with mild interested who'd done them, since reproductions and models were the sorts of things that had always fascinated him the most in museum exhibits. His father rattled off the information for Ryou while Honda murmured along with the text of what he was currently reading.

Honda took twenty minutes to fully appreciate the display, which Ryou thought was exceedingly polite and generous of him. It turned out to be a good thing that Honda had been so careful, because when Ryou's father ushered Ryou and Honda to his office a few minutes later, there was a test prepared.

"Dad, are you serious?" asked Ryou, looking over the pages of the pop test with disinterest while Honda gaped.

"I want to see how much he's learned as opposed to someone who has passing knowledge but hasn't reviewed a thing about the Sea Peoples in years."

"How can you be certain I didn't read anything?" asked Ryou smartly. "We were looking at it for twenty minutes."

"Hiroto was looking at it. You wandered off to look at some pictures and things in the Ramses the Great display."

This was true. Ryou hadn't read a damn thing except a few short blurbs and the name cards on the artifacts.

"You're just scared he'll get a better mark than you," said Mr. Bakura gleefully.

Ryou assured his father that this wasn't the case, especially because none of the test was multiple-choice. Ryou was the only one who stood a chance of getting anything right. Honda let out a wounded shout at Ryou's lack of faith in him, and said he was more than ready to ace this. Also, Honda's test was actually multiple-choice with five long answers at the end, which meant it was easier. When Ryou, aghast, told his father that this wasn't fair, his father simply said he'd needed to account for Ryou's natural advantage, and then sat them both in two separate, empty offices to take their tests.

"What are you planning to do if Honda fails the test?" asked Ryou, coming back into his father's office twelve minutes later with the test completed. When he'd checked on Honda, Honda was still on question six out of twenty-five. Apparently there'd been a true or false section that had held him up. "Will you take it as a sign to not try too hard on the next new exhibit or something?"

"Something like that," said his father, not looking up from the book he was leafing idly through. Eyes still trained on the page, he gestured over his left shoulder to the corner of the room. "Get the game board."

Obediently, Ryou pulled the senet board down from a row of cabinets in the back corner of the room. Not one piece of the box's contents rattled as he carefully set it on a nearby side table.

Until someone had bumped it four months ago, this same table had held an office plant. Before the plant, it had held a photo of Ryou's entire family. The photo, unlike the plant, had been intentionally got rid of. Ryou literally had no idea where it had gone, and he knew better than to ever call attention to its absence. No such sentimental things could be found anywhere in the office now. The only present reminder of any past family of Mr. Bakura's was Ryou himself, who's complexion took after his mother's more than his father would ever risk admitting to him. The family was something they were never allowed to speak about except over the phone when his father called him in the middle of the night to unload pent up misery, and even then, nothing was really discussed. Emotions were simply bandied about uselessly until, sense of catharsis attained, the call would peter out and finally end.

Honestly, it hadn't been all that hard for Ryou to elect to move out of his and his father's house and across the entire city, seeing how things had degraded between them. In a turbulent time, that had been at least one easy decision for Ryou to make.

"You want to wait for Honda to teach him how to play? He's not great at games, but he'll try," said Ryou as he set up the alternating black and white pawns down the further row of the board.

"Did he look close to finishing when you checked in on him?" asked Mr. Bakura curiously. Ryou shook his head. "Okay, then, we'll start without him," said Mr. Bakura brightly as he snapped his book shut and brought his chair over.

Ryou and his father agreed to three matches, and then tossed the throwing sticks in an improvised way of deciding who'd go first.

"Can Seto Kaiba play senet?" asked his father after the first few turns.

"What?"

"Do you know if Seto Kaiba can play senet?"

"I don't know exactly, but I'd say he does. He plays most games."

"Even the ancient ones? The ones no-one is certain what the rules are? There are a lot of ways to play senet. He wouldn't have time to learn all of them, would he?"

And it was at that moment that Ryou realized with shame that he'd forgot to ask Atem how to actually play senet properly. It was one of those things that had always crossed Ryou's mind, and yet he'd never been able to remember it in the moments when he and Yuugi, and supposedly Atem by extension, had been together. Now, he regretted it sharply. It was too late to ask.

"Seto's studied a lot of games. It's supposed to make him good at business strategy or whatever," said Ryou casually. Suddenly, he remembered something. "Apparently Seto knows twelve languages. He had to study those, too, with the games."

"I've heard him speak French," said his father knowingly. "At an international exhibition of ancient games in Crown City. There was a group from North Africa. He and they communicated in a sort of French together. No-one seemed to think anything of it, since Seto was more or less 'debuted' by Gozaburo during a chess tournament in Belgium. Seto was speaking French by then, though I don't think he said much. He didn't say a whole lot in the beginning. Just kind of stood around, looking dreary and uninterested in things. Even the matches he won didn't change his expression. By the way, how are your chess lessons going? Senet probably isn't nearly as stimulating for you as chess must be."

"I've almost reached the end of the lessons now. My last tournament is next week, and then I'm done studying chess."

"You're almost done? Does that mean you're a grandmaster now? I imagine that's the only point at which Seto Kaiba would ever stop teaching chess."

"No, there was never any intention to become a grandmaster. That would take years to do."

"If you guys are friends, then you have years. Chess is all you both get along over anyway."

Ryou said that he supposed this was so and quickly calculated which pawns to move for his roll of four. His father began talking about the high-level chess tournaments Gozaburo Kaiba had used to host, something which conversations about Seto Kaiba always reminded Mr. Bakura of. Ryou'd heard all about it by now, but didn't interrupt. He'd learned by skirting around intimate conversations with Seto that chess was an excellent topic to go to when one wished to talk at length about absolutely nothing.

Chess professionals from around the world had regularly descended upon Domino City back in the days of Gozaburo Kaiba's chess career, but only Gozaburo ever took home the winning trophy. Sometimes, Gozaburo didn't compete, but had his son Seto play instead. In that case, Seto would take the trophy, but either way, a Kaiba always won. There'd even been some buzz about Gozaburo sending Seto all by himself to Brazil, the first time Seto had been known to travel internationally without his father, to compete in a chess championship there. Now, years later, Mr. Bakura couldn't recall what exactly the buzz had been about. Maybe it had been the surprise of seeing Seto alone for the first time, his own individual entity. Before that, he'd always hung so close to Gozaburo.

"If someone had told me five years ago that you'd be learning to play chess from that haughty child on TV, I'd have laughed and told them they'd have to get you out of your room first, because your heart was set on Monster World," said Mr. Bakura thoughtfully. Ryou gave him a small smile, indicating that what he's said was definitely true.

When it came to Ryou's entire life up to a certain point, his father was something of an expert who'd always known Ryou very well. After that one point, however, his constant awareness of Ryou as an individual who continued to dynamically exist and evolve over time was patchy. It was as though Ryou's father was only theoretically aware that he still had family left in the world, and Ryou ended up feeling like his existence was treated more as a concept, a hypothesis that hadn't been proven true yet. Every interaction with his father, even when the man was bemoaning life's circumstance on the phone, felt like a test of that hypothesis. By now, Ryou had given up on trying to prove to his father that he was there and not going anywhere. Instead, Ryou stated it silently through his continued presence, hoping that such unwavering repetition would make him less of a theory and more of a law in his father's perception of reality.

"Seto and I don't just talk about chess," said Ryou after a quite moment of exchanged turns. "I just keep telling you that so you don't pester me about him and I being friends. For a while, at least, Seto and I were the closest thing to friends Seto knows how to have."

Mr. Bakura nodded, not too surprised. "Only for a while?" he asked pointedly. "What about now? Clearly you mean to imply that something has changed."

"Things got complicated," said Ryou as he moved his leading pawn back three squares because all the other spaces to land on were blocked. "We got too close, too fast. Now it's confusing."

"Are you trying to hint to me that you aren't friends anymore because you fell in love with him? Is that what 'too close' means?"

"Uh, almost," said Ryou, turning the obligatory shade of pink at the mention of being in love with anyone. "Except it's the other way around. I think. Or well, he's more open to it than I am."

"In that case, you should definitely ask him to donate a million dollars…."

"I'm serious, Dad."

Mr. Bakura chuckled to himself as he captured a pawn of Ryou's with his and traded their places. He cleared his throat deeply before tossing the sticks again. "Well, what am I supposed to do?" he asked with a grunt. "Approve or not? Reassure you? Dissuade you? Which?"

"I want to know what you have to say. This sort of thing could affect you. You're not exactly some low-key office worker people might overlook. You direct the city museum."

"Well, if you're worried about institutional politics, I'm sure the board won't mind you dating Seto Kaiba…as if you need a board of trustees to give you permission for that kind of thing, anyway. Not even CEO Seto Kaiba minds his own board of directors that closely. But, if it makes you feel better, they'll probably be thrilled I'm tangentially connected to Seto Kaiba. They'll hope, naturally, that there's something in it for them."

"Actually, I've never thought about the board of trustees," admitted Ryou, casting his eyes down slightly in embarrassment of the oversight. "Now that you mention it, though, I'm kinda thinking getting involved with Seto Kaiba is a bad idea. I don't really like the idea of people waiting around for some undeserved payoff just because the director's kid knows a Kaiba really well."

"Don't worry," said his father reassuringly. "Seto Kaiba strikes me as the kind of person who's already considered the museum's role in all this. I wouldn't be surprised if a donation did show up, despite how mortified you seem to be at the thought of it. He knows what people expect, and he'll give it to them. It's how the world works. Because unfortunately, your father is not some low-key office worker people overlook."

Ryou grimaced at the echo of his own words and said nothing. The cynical, no-nonsense tone in which his father said such things always made him feel like a small child who'd drawn the wrong conclusion because he was too inexperienced to interpret things correctly. When his father spoke like this, it felt like a lecture, because—as his father so often reminded him—Ryou's idealistic, adolescent mind had no capacity to understand how the world truly was. Thus, Ryou had to be taught how it was so that he'd be prepared for bitter reality when it finally struck him.

Ironically, Ryou was pretty sure it wasn't he himself who was the one the most out of touch with reality between him and his father. He was, however, the most immature. That's what his father was really trying to do: not teach Ryou the way of the world, but to impose maturity on him so that he could at least act the part of a fully realized adult without having any of the life experience to back it up. Ryou's father didn't want to interact with and relate to a child. He wanted Ryou to be grown-up already and independent of him. Instead of a son to take care of, Ryou's father preferred a confrère to talk shop with and play senet matches. He'd been trying to force Ryou into this position for at least two years now.

"Well," said Mr. Bakura with a tired sigh after some time had passed, "do you like Seto Kaiba back? It's your choice to get involved with him, not mine, or the governing boards of any Domino institutions."

"I guess I like him," said Ryou with a shrug. "I don't really know."

"Do you want advice?" asked his father. "For me tell you what you already know? Like that he's clearly a very busy person, and you're going to be alone a lot, because he's going to be meeting his deadlines with much more frequency than he's going to be meeting up with you? Or do you need someone to remind you that it's going to be hard to have a private life if you get involved with him?"

With a subdued flourish, Mr. Bakura removed the first pawn from the board. He looked to Ryou with a forced, cheery expression, the smile of his triumphant advance still stretched across face. "So, Ryou, what do you want me to say? I'm not in a mood to guess."

"Maybe say you know that people will start asking you about us, that you're prepared for that," said Ryou. "Reporters will come to you."

"Reporters and strangers and staff have been asking me all about Seto Kaiba since you started studying chess with him, Ryou," Mr. Bakura reminded him sternly. "You already know that. And I always tell them the same: I don't know, it's Ryou's business. Go ask him. I only know Ryou, not Seto Kaiba, so if you haven't got any questions relevant to Ryou, I can't help."

"They'll start asking you about me if I'm dating Seto Kaiba. They might also ask you…other stuff about me. Like, my past."

"Like your little boyfriend in seventh grade? You never treated that like a secret. Why would that be a problem now? It's going to be fairly obvious to the whole world that you're gay if you're famous for being the guy involved with Seto Kaiba. That definitely lets the cat out of the bag, if it were ever in a bag to begin with. Even if you're not exactly gay, the world doesn't care because the world doesn't ask you who you are, it only cares who you're with. Plus, 'gay' you can write with fewer letters. They'll say that just to budget the space better in the headline."

"No, Dad, what I mean is…" began Ryou, but paused. He ran a hand tiredly over his face as the pause lengthened, before suddenly rushing through the words at the precise moment his hand blocked his eyes, so that he wouldn't have to meet his father's own. "They'll probably want to know about Mom and Amane."

Ryou kept his eyes fixed on the board as he unveiled his vision, successfully missing any trace of a physical reaction from his father which Ryou might've spied accidentally from the corner of his eye.

"Deaths are indeed tragic," observed Mr. Bakura grimly. His hand belied his emotions by closing around the throwing sticks in a weak fist. "People love to read about tragedy. It's funny. You'd never think to pry into that sort of thing if it were a friend of yours or even a close colleague. But, when someone's in the public eye, it merely becomes part of a narrative. Because apparently it's nothing to know the private business of a complete stranger better than you know the business of the people around you."

Ryou sighed at the obvious resentment interspersed through the last statement. It worried him greatly. "Please don't say stuff like that to the press. They'll get mad at you. It might affect the museum."

"I'll tell them exactly what I think of those sorts of questions," insisted Mr. Bakura stubbornly. "I'll tell them they can take their sensationalistic journalism and go sniff for blood elsewhere, because I'm not going to give them reign over my personal tragedy so they can sell papers and garner pageviews. They can ask you about it, not me. They won't get my story. My story is not for the public consumption."

"Dad, please. Just give them something generic to add to their narrative, and then just repeat that every time the topic comes up. You don't even have to believe it. Just find something you can use. Something innocuous. Don't let them see how you really feel, because…"

"Because the press doesn't acknowledge that grief has stages. Because the press is a monstrous machine that expects you to be either over a tragedy or unable to cope, and not somewhere on the road between the two."

"Dad, nearly four years is too long to not be over it as far as the 'healthy' narrative goes in the media," Ryou reminded him meekly. "It has nothing to do with how people really deal with stuff. The press is going to treat you like a crazy person if you get too defensive. It could hurt your reputation. If it gets bad enough, it will affect the museum. The board might find you unfit to direct. You know how it'll be. The leave period they allowed you three years ago came really super close to being permanent."

"Four years is nothing. They're just pressuring people to silence so that no-one has to sustain the effort to care," said Mr. Bakura. "It's true that no-one can stand to see another person suffer, but it's not in a compassionate way. They can't stand to see a person continue to suffer because they can't stand having to pretend to give a damn for as long as it takes."

Ryou nodded dully and remembered exactly why he never brought these sorts of things up with his father. Mr. Bakura had been grief-stricken for months after his wife and child's deaths, and had only been able to pull himself out of it, at least superficially, at the threat of losing his directorship. The board hadn't be playing fair, since they'd never concealed their desire to replace Mr. Bakura with someone who meshed better with administration. Ryou figured this forced suppression of his father's grief was what had caused his father to focus on quick fixes built around tactics of distraction and repression, which ultimately put Mr. Bakura in a place where the most comfortable thing was to continue to refuse to confront his grief.

And then, a year and a half later, Ryou was in trouble at school and had to transfer out of their neighborhood. After that, repressing the crushing anguish of loss became a whole lot easier for his father. Ryou was no longer physically there to remind him that he hurt or force him to be responsible. Everyone was gone, and Mr. Bakura was alone. Because Mr. Bakura had always been an independent, solitary person, being alone was something he knew well how to do. Sustaining that aloneness comforted him, because when you were alone, at least, the only factor you had to consider was yourself. When you were alone, you didn't have to answer to anyone or be anything for anyone. Nothing about you ever had to change or make room or get better. Life was certainly easier, by far, when one was alone.

Ryou still vividly remembered calling his father, who was still in the stage of deadening himself to the world, in a choked panic after an hour of impatient waiting in order to tell him that his friends were sick on the floor. That they'd all apparently blacked out, and Ryou had been the only one who'd woken up. His father had been very calm, much too distant, like an impersonal telephone operator listening to someone relay the nature of their emergency. Ryou had hung up on his father after a minute of getting nowhere and called the police instead, realizing it was what he should've done anyway, but hadn't due to the strange feeling that Ryou himself was somehow responsible for everything because he was the only one who was okay. Childishly, Ryou'd suspected if he called the police, they might see Ryou was guilty and take him away, and then Ryou'd never see or hear from his father ever again.

"I won't date Seto if it's a burden to you," said Ryou once his father was done ranting about the lack of empathy in the modern world and had finally, fitfully, tossed the throwing sticks to take his turn. Ryou took up the throwing sticks next and fiddled with them nervously as he spoke. "Seto and I haven't decided what to do yet. Nothing's started. I can still back out."

"Don't back out on my account," said Mr. Bakura gruffly. "I promise I know better than to yell at reporters. I just hate them, and that's all. But, I know the game. Once they realize they can't get a good story from someone, they back off." He grinned suddenly and relaxed, looking over at Ryou, who kept glancing over worriedly and failing to hide it. "I should really be thinking what I want to spend all that token KaibaCorp donation money on. If he wants to really intimidate the board into leaving him alone, it should be pretty big check. We should go over some ideas where to put it all."

"Ancient _Summer_?" Ryou suggested, keeping his expression serious. His father laughed.

"Hey, you know, the reason we haven't fixed that is because it shows up on two different panels, and the illustrations on those panels were really expensive to get," said Mr. Bakura. "That exhibit was supposed to last at least five years. It's been up for nine now."

"I didn't see any mistakes on the newer stuff."

"Of course. Everything _I've_ had installed here has been top quality. Why do you think the board even hired me? They were desperate for someone competent, and I was dumb enough to take the offer."

Ryou laughed at this when he saw his father laughing. He tossed the throwing sticks and counted up his points, once more calculating which pawns were best to move. He handed the sticks to his father, but Mr. Bakura hesitated before casting them. He looked at Ryou seriously, suddenly concerned.

"Ryou?"

"Yes?" asked Ryou with nervous anticipation. Ryou had been expecting the subject to have changed already. They were joking about museum problems again, the safest and most repetitive conversation in the world that ever occurred between them. What else could possibly be wrong now?

"What in the names of all the deities populating all pantheons of the ancient world is taking your friend so long on that test?"

###### Notes:

SENET: So like, there are so many ways to play senet, you guys. I just assumed Ryou and his dad would play the most complicated one.  
SEA PEOPLES: Why am I so interested in the Sea Peoples? Clearly because there is so little info on them that I'm less likely to say something wrong. Thus, I sound smarter.


	35. A Change of Scene

Seto sat with Mokuba at opposite ends of a small, square restaurant table. For the ten millionth time, Mokuba asked if he could order a rum cake because it sounded cool and they set it on fire at the table or whatever.

For the ten millionth time, Seto told him no, he was too young, and it would make the papers if anyone saw Mokuba eating something like that in public. Mokuba snottily reminded Seto that Seto had once been on the news when he'd been spotted with a glass of wine next to his plate on a trip to Italy. Seto insisted he hadn't touched the glass, that things were different in Italy, that right now he was drinking water because water was the purest and most complementary drink to anything you ate because water had no discernible flavor. Water didn't make you sick like wine did. Water was superior and had no stupefying effects.

Mokuba said the water did have a flavor, and that he didn't like it. Seto summoned the waiter and asked for the drink menu. Stoically, he selected a different brand of water, Catalan this time. Perhaps Mokuba would prefer Iberian water as opposed to Apennine. Otherwise, they could see how Fennoscandian water went. It was important to try new things to expand one's perception of the world.

Mokuba asked about the new hologram projection series Seto was working on, where only duelists themselves could see the monsters with the proper headgear. There'd been complaints from municipalities around the world that monster duels were disrupting public events and scenic city vistas. To put it plainly, fighting monsters were an eyesore. Also, it was hard to relax and enjoy a pleasant lunch in a quiet piazza once some rich kids with duel disks came by to duke it out in public. There was a strong push by the local politicians in these areas for a more clandestine form of game playing, at least within particular portions of the city. Seto had responded promptly and was organizing a team to develop hologram neutralizing systems that could be installed by authorities in the areas in which they wished for duels to no longer take place. In these areas, if players still wished to duel, they would need the appropriate headgear to see the holograms without disrupting the space around them.

"But like, won't they still be yelling at each other?" asked Mokuba curiously. "Some duelists have like, their signature poses and stuff when they play a trap card, or summon a particular monster. They'd still be doing that, right? Only it will look really stupid because no-one will be able to see the monsters."

"I think the significant risk they run of looking ridiculous will deter them sufficiently," said Seto, taking a miniscule bite of his barely tasted lobster frittata. Mokuba had asked him earlier how to tell the difference between a frittata and an omelet, because sometimes it wasn't entirely obvious. Seto had told him, quite plainly, that a frittata was an omelet you ate for dinner, and that that was mostly it. He didn't really care if there were any distinction beyond that, because, for as much of a genius as he was lauded to be, Seto Kaiba didn't care a fuck about food. He ended up giving the rest of the lobster frittata to Mokuba as he transitioned to his most favored pastime when out in public: glaring around the room they were in with no clear object.

"Why are you so pissed off?" asked Mokuba between mouthfuls of lobster and egg and tumbling beads of caviar. "Like, more so than usual, I mean?"

"Nothing I can't overcome," said Seto between gritted teeth, not about to explain his internal struggle to a twelve-year-old who knew him well enough to judge him for it endlessly, but without real understanding. What did twleve-year-olds know about adult relationships? (Having completed the necessary hurdle of obtaining a high school degree, and Seto now fully considered himself an adult. From this point on, he would only accept being called a game/technological/entrepreneurial prodigy in the past tense.)

"C'mon, it's been two days, Seto. I was wondering if we came here to dinner because you were going to tell me it was my fault, and you wanted to soften the impact with like, fancy dinner."

"That sounds really unnecessary, Mokuba. This dinner is because I wanted to go out and do something, get my mind off things, relax."

Mokuba snorted into his plate and grinned at Seto. "You… _relax_? You're actually trying to do that right now? You don't even like going out to eat."

"I thought a change of scene might help."

"Are you going to tell me what it's helping you with, or are you just planning to sit there and brood or something?"

Seto seemed beyond decided on the brooding bit. He let Mokuba know this by keeping up his glum exterior and staring intently in a direction away from Mokuba. Mokuba shrugged and finished eating, not caring to push the matter.

"You're in seventh grade," said Seto suddenly. "I didn't think about that."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you started dating?"

Mokuba instantly clammed up. He didn't wish to divulge this sort of information to his older brother, whose business it decidedly wasn't. He redoubled his attention on the lobster frittata, picking shiny balls of caviar off the plate with total concentration on the task.

"Kids your age, they start dating, right?" asked Seto, astonishingly curious about a topic he'd never once in their lives displayed much interest for. "You've definitely had a crush by now, haven't you? On a person?"

Mokuba wasn't entirely sure what the qualifier of "on a person" was added in for. Sure, he'd had a crush on characters in movies and card games and stuff, but they were always people characters. Female people characters, so far as he could tell. He suspected Seto might not be asking about his various video game crushes, though. Seto was asking him about his classmates, the girls he actually knew.

In order to protect the innocent from his brother's weirdness, Mokuba decided he wasn't going to admit to a single crush on any girl in his class who Seto might ever run into. Mokuba wasn't prepared for what Seto might do with such information.

"Sure, I've had crushes," admitted Mokuba in a small voice that was directed towards the swiftly emptying plate and not Seto. "Please don't ask me to list every girl for you. You don't know them."

"Have you dated any of them?"

"I mean, I took a girl to the arcade and showed her your top scores, but I got the impression she was more interested in meeting you than hanging out with me, so, I ditched her in the mall when she was trying on clothes. The next day I chucked her phone out the window at school when she gave it to me to hide from the teacher during class. I think she got the picture."

Seto inwardly cringed at what he already knew, that he was crushed on after preteen girls. He knew it was a hazard of the trade when one was a celebrity duelist, but in this instance it was more distressing than usual because it had come around and affected Mokuba. Seto wanted to ask Mokuba who the girl was so that Seto could exact revenge, but he knew Mokuba wasn't going to tell him. And anyway, Mokube had already started tormenting the girl himself. Mokuba seemed to have a handle on the situation. Seto was proud.

"Another girl was really clingy and annoying, so I told her if she kept following me around, we should date. Then, three days later, I told her we had to break up because your enemies had heard we were dating and were planning to kidnap her for ransom and rip out her fingernails to intimidate us until we paid up."

" _What_?"

"There was another girl who was my girlfriend for a month, but all we did was sit next to each other in class. We only met at school. She was always busy at home, and then she moved to San Diego, so now we're pen pals. She was really good at Capsule Monster Chess."

"So the last one was successful?"

"No. She didn't talk a lot. It was boring. Now she just texts me strings of emoticons randomly, and I can't figure them out. It's like reading hieroglyphics, except hieroglyphics mean stuff. I'm pretty sure she's just kinda weird or something. Even online, it's just, like, selfies, her new puppy, and emoticons everywhere. Like, look at this."

Mokuba pulled out his phone and gestured Seto closer to see it clearly. "Okay, so here's like a normal picture of her dog jumping off a diving board into a pool like he's gonna save that floaty toy there from drowning. Cool stuff, right? Now, look at the description under it. A _sheep_. Just, like, a random sheep and a quarter moon next to each other. Like, what does that mean? What has that got to do with the puppy diving? Why?"

"Maybe she forgot it's the cow that jumps over the moon?"

"I said she was weird, not an idiot, Seto."

Seto shrugged and sat back in his seat again, figuring it was possible to be both of those things, weird and an idiot, at the same time. Still, he took Mokuba's word for it. He also mentally filed away the girl's face in a passing selfie in case he ever saw her and needed to ask her a rather plaintive "why?" for her wordless, text-based social media decisions.

"What is this about?" asked Mokuba at last. "Why do you care about the girls I've dated?"

"I didn't date anyone when I was twelve."

"You didn't get out much when you were twelve. I barely remember what you looked like when you were twelve. You were always…studying." Mokuba softened the last part, implying that he knew Seto hadn't truly been studying in a regular sense of the word. Seto'd been trained, was more like it, but Mokuba didn't talk about that. Mokuba knew how futile it was to remind Seto of the powerless days of the past, when Seto had been whatever their father had ordered him to be. Plus, Mokuba's recollections of those days were hazy and unfocused due to his reluctance to revisit them. Mokuba consciously chose to see Seto only how Seto was now, on top, the victor at the end of a long struggle with powers that had attempted to force their will on him and mold him into a form he'd only finally taken at great cost to his creators.

"One sec," said Mokuba thoughtfully. "Are you saying I'm more advanced than you? You've never had any girlfriend? Never held a girl's hand? Or like, _kissed_?"

Mokuba himself had only _kissed_ —a word he pronounced in an odd, strangled way that blatantly showed off his depth of inexperience with the act—twice on the lips, three times on a cheek. Mokuba knew the tally exactly, like every instance counted as points he'd accumulated in a game of proving he was attractive and valued by girls, something which was becoming increasingly important as he aged. He was still very torn between finding girls awkward and unfamiliar and finding them fascinating and impossible to reach. Slowly but surely, however, the girls were gradually edging into the fascinating realm.

"Shut up, Mokuba. I've done that kind of stuff," said Seto when Mokuba had finished boastfully reciting a litany of what all it was that being "good" with girls and dating entailed to a twelve-year-old. "It's not that much of a challenge."

Seto didn't elaborate. There was a lot about this particular topic he wished to conceal from Mokuba, because Mokuba was destine to be the comparatively normal one between them both, and bogging him down with the finer details of his older brother's unorthodox past would introduce unnecessary stress. Seto was even a bit relieved to know that Mokuba had started having these harmless experiences with girls his own age already, because it reminded Seto of Ryou and Ryou's own normal experience. Ryou's life had gone well off the rails by high school, of course, but until then, Ryou'd been relatively average. It was a good sign Mokuba was making those same milestones.

"Don't worry, big brother; you can always come to me for advice on girls," said Mokuba cheekily.

"I don't need advice on girls. I've already explained why. You know better. Now, is there any dessert you want that isn't a cake that's on fire?"

"Sure. There's a chocolate bombe called the Alaskan Oil Spill that they ignite with—"

"That _isn't on fire_ , Mokuba."

"A chocolate parfait, then."

"That's more like it."

###### Notes:

I submit this piece of evidence as proof that _I can still write short chapters_.


	36. The Arbiters

"Are you secretly dating Kaiba yet, or are you keeping it hush-hush from even your friends? I can break the news to Jounouchi if you're scared."

Awkward silence. Ryou looked between Anzu and Yuugi, Anzu having been the one to speak just now. Ryou wasn't sure how to take this unexpected confrontation. Yuugi, upon noticing Ryou's glance to him, nodded seriously, showing he was 100-percent with Anzu on this and hadn't merely been forced to tag along. Yuugi knew the itinerary of the visit, and he was on board. He would offer Ryou no avenue down which to escape.

"I'm not hiding anything," confessed Ryou. "You can't possibly believe the gossip columns saying we're together…."

"We didn't get this from the gossip column," said Anzu firmly. "We're not stupid. We would've been here weeks ago if we were just following gossip."

Ryou sighed and put down the game magazine Yuugi had brought over as an excuse to stop by Ryou's apartment. He'd already taken out soft drinks as they'd settled around the table to peruse the magazine together. This delay for hospitality had been exactly long enough for Anzu to wait before she's announced the real reason she and Yuugi'd stopped by. They hadn't even got past the magazine's table of contents yet. Ryou could only look down and observe in list form all that he could've been reading, could've been doing other than this, displayed in front of him temptingly and yet now beyond reach, even as he absently flicked the corner of the page with the side of his thumb.

"Who told you? Honda or Ryuuji?" asked Ryou, casting frequent, longing glances at the glossy pages that rested, slippery and smooth, beneath the pads of his fingers. "They're the only ones who know about this. Well, and Seto. But I doubt he'd say anything to you guys."

"Honda," said Yuugi. "He assumed that, based on the conversation he overheard between you and your dad at the museum, that you were going to go out with Kaiba."

"I haven't spoken to Seto in three days. We had sort of a disagreement the same afternoon before I went to the museum. So no, we're not going out."

"Oh," said Anzu, her face clouding with sympathy. "We didn't know about that. Sorry."

"What happened?" asked Yuugi, less tactful than Anzu and not catching the hint that it had to have been a bad disagreement if Ryou and Seto were no longer talking only a week and a half after Seto had come on to Ryou.

"Seto's a very decisive person, but…. Well, we didn't see eye to eye on stuff."

"That's not weird and vague of a description at all," said Anzu. "Are you protecting yourself or Kaiba here?"

"I was evasive, he was rude, I walked out, and he threw a chessboard at the wall. We both come off as kind of terrible, really. I mean, it was an argument. No matter who wins, both people look bad."

"Was that in room 204?" asked Anzu, surprising Ryou who expected more questions about the exact content of the argument.

"Um, yeah. The chess team meets there."

"I heard there was dent in the wall. The classroom teacher was trying to find out who did it. So, I guess Kaiba did it, then."

"He'll probably send someone to fix it if it's bad," said Ryou. "Did you see it?"

"Nope," said Yuugi, laughing. "We thought it was Jounouchi. After Honda told us everything, we were kinda joking that Jounouchi put the dent in the wall after he somehow heard about you and Kaiba. But then, we were wondering if maybe it really _was_ Jounouchi, like you and he had been practicing and you either told him or he somehow found out. We decided we should come over and talk to you just in case, to see how you were, because Jounouchi can be a jerk about stuff. You wanted to borrow my game magazine anyway, so I told Anzu we could offer to bring it here. Honda didn't come because he was too embarrassed that you'd be annoyed with him for eavesdropping on you and your dad."

"I see. Thanks for your concern, but everything's fine."

"Fine that Kaiba hasn't spoken to you or come to school in three days?" asked Yuugi.

"Well, not perfect," Ryou admitted with an odd, small smile. "But he doesn't need to go to school anyway, so it's not like he's avoiding it on my account. He already took the exams and passed."

"But how are you going to tell him you'll date him if you never meet him?" asked Anzu. "Kaiba isn't exactly a person you run into every day."

"I called him. I have his number."

"You said you haven't spoken to him."

"I haven't. His secretary left me a message that was basically, 'We don't seem to be making progress, so let's take time to think about what we've accomplished so far and consider whether or not we want to continue.' I listened to it a few times, so I've kind of got it down. I still can't decide if it's a negative or positive, but it's what I have."

"Is this supposed to be dating or a business negotiation?" asked Yuugi, his face scrunching up with disbelief while Anzu rolled her eyes.

"Not sure Kaiba can tell the difference," said Anzu smartly. "Pretty sure Kaiba's an idiot."

"You're starting to sound like Jounouchi," said Yuugi.

"I'm starting to _agree_ _with_ _Jounouchi_ ," Anzu fired back.

Ryou took the game magazine back into his hands and started flipping through it while smiling and shaking his head at Yuugi and Anzu, who were finally bickering lightly between each other and not interviewing him. This short break did not last long. Anzu told Ryou that Ryou needed to be more serious, that he couldn't just roll over and accept such treatment from Seto. Ryou told her it was nothing to worry about. Seto and Ryou had never got all that far together. It was really just Seto being himself, being the only way Ryou had ever known him to be. However, while that was maybe true, Anzu didn't appreciate how laissez-faire Ryou took it. Yuugi agreed with her. Ryou ought to take action.

"I don't really plan to do anything," said Ryou with a shrug. "Seto might be the one avoiding me, but I'm the one who's ahead. I have less invested. I'm prepared to move beyond this and go on with my life. Seto clearly isn't, because he's acting like a kid."

"I'm sorry, Ryou, but it kinda feels like you're lying," said Yuugi apologetically. "You need to tell us the truth."

"Do you really want me to put on a show? To break down in front of you in tears and tell you my life has been ruined because some guy who liked me for a week doesn't like me now as much as he did before?" asked Ryou, smiling at the apparent ridiculousness of the idea while his words were utterly devoid of emotion. The overtly carefree tone didn't match how he felt, but he'd have been terrified to reveal his strange, mixed, unfathomable feelings. He didn't wish to share what he himself didn't understand. "Don't be so worried. In case you guys don't see it, there's no possible way I can be in love with Seto yet. I like him, yes. I'm kind of sad he's avoiding me. But, I'd be equally sad if you or Anzu stopped talking to me, too. Seto's probably doing worse than I am. He's the one who chose this."

"And you never choose anything," said Anzu as Yuugi winched. "Things happen and you just let them. You act like it's fine. You're really great at deluding yourself and avoiding everything that puts you at risk of failure. You're awesome at not taking responsibility for anything. You're awesome at making up excuses to rarely do anything yourself."

Ryou stopped smiling. "Now you sound like Seto," he pointed out to her.

"Well then I guess I agree with him, too."

The three sat in silence for a moment, Ryou under fire and unsure what to say that wouldn't incriminate him further. Apparently keeping his cool and being in control of himself wasn't acceptable in the current circumstances. The unacceptability of it went against every instinct Ryou had ever had for how to comport himself correctly in messy, emotionally compromised situations. You were supposed to make yourself, particularly whatever part of you expressed how you might feel, invisible. And sometimes, upholding the emotional distance between you and others involved running out of the room in tears or in anger so they wouldn't see.

It was an unhappy fact that Ryou couldn't very well up and leave his own apartment, however. Yuugi, obviously, was a brilliant strategist. Staging this confrontation in Ryou's own home had been a masterstroke. Ryou couldn't physically flee and abandon the match between them. He was forced to stand his ground.

Seeing that Anzu had been too frank too quickly and thus lost her ability to elicit any more open responses from Ryou, Yuugi decided to try to appeal to Ryou himself one last time. "You know, you can tell us how you are, if you have any problems. We're your friends," he said. "It doesn't matter if it's Kaiba or anyone. This kind of thing always hurts."

"But this doesn't hurt, Yuugi. Not really. And it's not going to hurt unless you guys keep telling me it should, and then you'll have created a problem where there isn't one."

This was effectively the end of the discussion. Yuugi and Anzu, while not totally pleased with how the matter was being handled, knew that it would take much greater effort and much more time if they were to prevail upon Ryou's resolved to make his problems with Seto a non-issue. Also, loathe as they were to admit it, Ryou did have something of a point about blowing up a problem to proportions to which it needn't extend. The reality was that yes, it was indeed possible to aggravate and worsen a problem if one treated it like a crisis. What was going on right now, this gray area of uncertainty Ryou insisted on trudging through unaccompanied, wasn't exactly a crisis. It was sad, unfortunate, and bothersome, but it wasn't yet the end of the world. Not unless they treated it as such.

After an few hours of going over the magazine together, watching television idly, and hearing about what was new on display in the museum Ryou had recently visited, Yuugi and Anzu finally left. At last alone, Ryou allowed himself to reassume the slumped over and openly downcast appearance that he hadn't worn in front of his friends. He was veritably exhausted from having to step around sensitive topics that threatened to make him feel what he avoided feeling in Yuugi and Anzu's presence.

It hadn't been easy to hold back the selfish, histrionic urge to bemoan his romantic situation to inquisitive friends who, while they cared and said they actively wished for to him to trust them enough to emote to them, would ultimately only be able to offer empty sympathy in return. Ryou didn't consider empty sympathy to be much of an even trade for bearing his inner turmoil and forcing others to feel bad for him, so he'd done everything in his power to lessen their concern and put them in a position where they couldn't force his feelings out of him.

What else but empty sympathy could be offered Ryou at this stage, anyway? Three days, frankly, was not long enough to be taking action, which Yuugi had suggested Ryou do. Even though the hours passed slowly and his chest ached and an acid feeling burned in the back of his throat, Ryou knew that three days was not enough time. Someone like Seto Kaiba had so much work to busily dive into and distract himself with, that it was possible Seto'd hardly made any time to consider the situation as it stood or had even counted the number of days passing. Ryou lacked Seto's endless roads of activity down which he could escape from his painful feelings at will. Ryou was instead force to feel and feel and feel, uselessly, like the relationship had shut him in a dark room, and he was groping along the wall hoping to find a switch, praying something might happen soon, because there was only so much longer one could hold out until the prospect of simply giving up and leaving became the more reasonable action.

Three days was still very short. When you felt unwell for only three days and went to see the doctor, they'd mostly give you some means or other to cope with the symptoms first before they diagnosed anything specific. It was always "take this medicine when you feel the pain come on, and we'll see in three weeks if it persists". Only a few days were not enough to go on. More than a week would need to pass. Maybe two. If Ryou didn't hear from Seto for a month, Ryou would take the hint and gladly move on.

However, if Seto felt like giving Ryou a hint sooner, that'd been even better. If Seto would only call and say, "It won't work." Then, Ryou would know, and that would be so much better than now. The empty anticipation would be finished. He could finally react instead of staying frozen up, anxious, unknowing and afraid.

With a small, derisive smile, Ryou realized why Seto had probably got so mad at him three days ago. Hadn't Ryou, by hesitating when Seto had announced he'd wanted to start a relationship, more or less placed Seto in a similar situation to the one Seto had so brattily spun back around and imposed on Ryou? Hadn't Ryou kind of brought this all upon himself?

In the evening, there was a knock on the door. The tall brunette standing in the doorway wasn't Seto Kaiba, however. It was Hiroto Honda.

"I'm sorry I blabbed to Yuugi and Anzu," said Honda, almost as soon as Ryou'd opened the door. "They told me you and Kaiba had a falling out? _Damn_."

"It's not a full falling out yet," said Ryou, a tiny bit annoyed and not sure who was making a bigger deal of things, Ryou himself, or his well-meaning but overly dramatic friends.

"But things aren't good," said Honda flatly.

"Things aren't great."

"But he, he came on to you. At the dinner."

"These dynamics change really fast when you first start opening up to people," said Ryou, putting on a false voice of someone wise beyond his years (though the reality was that he'd looked up this sort of thing online already). As he spoke, he led Honda towards the kitchen to set up the natural question of if there was anything Honda wanted to drink. Ryou had the feeling Honda might be a while, if Yuugi and Anzu's own visit had been any indication.

Honda, however, went straight to the sofa without following Ryou. Ryou joined Honda and sat perpendicular to him, and there rose in his mind the unbidden memory of Seto sat in the same place Ryou was now, of Ryou sat in the same place Honda had just taken. As a matter of fact, Ryou repeatedly avoided the side of the sofa Honda now occupied. It encouraged too much recollection of gut felt things that clouded Ryou's better judgment. It made him nostalgic and also a little frustrated that he couldn't go back in time and have Seto back on the sofa there, waiting patient and quiet for Ryou to come towards him and kiss him first all over again.

"Like, the whole dynamics changing quickly thing is especially true if you're like Seto," said Ryou in continuation, still feigning to know everything, "and you perceive that opening up more than the other person means you're the loser in the relationship. That it puts you in the weaker position. It exposes you to greater loss if you give too much."

"Kaiba is like that?" scoffed Honda. " _You're_ the one who's like that. Full of secrets, not telling people shit."

"I'm not full of secrets. I'm full of things that are my own business and no-one else's," Ryou clarified in a softly chiding tone. Honda rolled his eyes and leaned back into the sofa, pressing his hands to his face and letting out an annoyed groan.

"I swear, between you and Ryuuji, I'm getting really sick of this super defensive bullshit," snapped Honda in frustration. He finally lowered his hands so that he could more adequately glare at Ryou as he spoke. "Just because you're used to keeping shit to yourself doesn't mean that's how you need to relate to everyone. You can let your guard down. Not everyone's the same as whoever the hell taught you otherwise. You shouldn't treat everyone based on how one person got selfish and screwed up."

"It wasn't a single person that screwed up," said Ryou. He was nervous all of the sudden, but kept talking. He wanted to make it clear to Honda that they way Ryou acted made sense. Maybe then, through Honda, this sort of thing would trickle out, and people would stop treating Ryou so carefully. People would understand Ryou and know it was best to leave him alone, that Ryou would be fine.

"It was a whole circumstance, Honda. It was a whole sequence of events. It was a whole _lot_ of people at once trying to give me good advice, and yet only giving me the impression that interacting with me would be much easier if they didn't have to also keep in mind everything bad and uncomfortable that had ever happened to me. It's overall a very isolating feeling, having every good reason in the world to be miserable and feeling all your interactions with people now have that underlying uneasiness to them, because everyone else also knows you have good reasons to be miserable, and they're terrified you might show it."

"Yeah, well, usually I give this speech to Ryuuji," said Honda, rather graciously admitting that he wasn't perfect in giving pep-talks. "His case applies primarily to one person. I haven't tailored it to your situation all that well, but the same rough idea still applies, I think."

"My problem is more like I really want to keep my problems to myself, but like, everyone finds out about them anyway," said Ryou firmly, refusing to deviate from the script he was trying to set. "That's what I'm trying to say. I don't have secrets. Actually, my personal life is _too_ well known."

"And see, this right here is why I'm pretty sure you and Ryuuji have similar shit going on. Even if it embarrasses, you, you need to stop treating people like they're wrong or mistaken when they care about your problems. You're not so damn clever that you've tricked us into caring. You haven't fooled people into liking you. Kaiba doesn't like you because he feels bad for you—Kaiba never feels bad for anyone. He just kinda likes you. He probably doesn't even know why that is. I don't even know why that is, but here we are."

"I don't know why, either. I have no idea. I don't even know why I like him back. None of this makes sense."

"It doesn't have to, you idiot. The thing is, at this stage, you should only ask yourself if you like a person or not, if you want to get involved with them or not. You aren't supposed to ask yourself why you feel something, because once you come up with reasons _why_ you feel a certain way, you also develop reasons to stop feeling that way. You start unconsciously developing conditions to be met, and then you fuck it all up with complicated rules. All it really is is just a way of keeping one foot out the door, and it's fucking cowardly."

This last part about rules and conditions seemed to deviate a bit from referring to just Ryou and Seto's situation. Ryou had the impression that he was invading Ryuuji's privacy somewhat, but couldn't resist the urge to try to guess which parts of Honda's speech applied to Ryuuji, and which applied to Ryou. Perhaps all of it but the Kaiba part had been fed to Ryuuji at some point or other. Maybe when Honda argued this kind of stuff with Ryuuji, he mentioned himself where he'd just now mentioned Kaiba.

At any rate, a lot of thought and care and experience had gone into what Honda was saying, even if not all the experience was entirely germane to Ryou's situation. For two seconds, Ryou longed that he might one day find someone who cared as much about him as Honda clearly, completely cared about Ryuuji Otogi.

Ryou then remembered that he was getting involved with Seto Kaiba.

Oh well.

"Okay, I get it, I get it," said Ryou, hunching his shoulders under the weight of Honda's words so Honda would know they'd reached their intended target at full impact. "But what good does falling for Seto so unquestioningly do me when he isn't even talking to me?"

"Not a lot of good, I guess, especially if he's trying to cut you off completely and we just don't know it yet."

"Oh yes, that's super reassuring, Honda."

"I mean, like, I don't know everything, Ryou. When I lecture Ryuuji he just reflects a long time, and then he comes back and we get along and it's mushy and he's nice."

Ryou nodded understandingly. A lock of hair fell across his nose and itched him. He blew it out of the way with a long breath of air like a sigh. "I sort of imagine Ryuuji can really turn up the charm when he's in a mood for it. That probably shuts you up."

Honda was suddenly, adorably bashful. "Uh, he's a crazy guy. He says crazy stuff all the time. So yeah, he can sweep a person off their feet just talking, I guess. He also hates getting bored, though, so sometimes he's just fucking around to see what he can come up with. You know how he gets. But it's nice, though. It just crazy enough that you don't feel so awkward about the stuff you're saying. It's like acting. It's the only way he knows to confess to anything. Alcohol doesn't even help that much. It's like ingrained in him to be how he is."

"Well, wow. You guys seem to be running the gamut of every stereotype of reckless teenage behavior ever seen in a movie. Alcohol? You guys are the reason adults never trust us, you know."

"Ha-ha, well, what happened was some idiot gave him am expensive bottle of wine and the first thing he did was run over to my place and propose to drink it together, so…."

"So you're taking the easy way out and just saying Ryuuji Otogi is a terrible influence on you and it's all his fault?"

"I'm saying I gotta follow him into the shit because at least I've got his back if he gets in trouble."

"And that's because you're in love with him?"

"Uh, _yeah_. But like, I'd keep you out of the shit, too, if you came over to my house telling me you wanted to get wasted with or without me, it's up to me. That's just who I am. Probably wouldn't let you try to make out with me drunk, though. That's where I'd have to draw the line."

Ryou smiled, and it was completely genuine. Something about listening to Honda tell him about Ryuuji, about how well Honda knew Ryuuji and how much Honda cared, filled Ryou with a sense of relief. It seemed so obtainable, that easy contentment, that sharing of time and personal space with someone else to the point where stories about yourself became stories about them, too, and vice versa.

Logically, Ryou knew it had probably been extremely difficult to reach a familiar level with Ryuuji, where Ryuuji related to you more as a person rather than as another spectator of his life's show. Indeed, though Honda would tell Ryou all day that Ryuuji said crazy things, Honda'd never recite those things exactly, because Honda respected and appreciated the significance of the fact that Ryuuji had even tried to say them, even if they'd been dressed up in clever banter and bullshit. Those blithely said things would've easily sounded insincere and silly when taken on mere face value, but they'd been the closest Ryuuji could come to candidness at this point in his life. Honda was understanding about it. He cared too much about Ryuuji to not try to understand him.

"I know Ryuuji used to drag you to meetings, but did he ever teach you chess? I wouldn't put it past him to have been cheating, telling the team you knew nothing when in reality he was helping you. Seems like the kind of motivational strategy Ryuuji would dream up."

"Hell no," said Honda, laughing. "He can't stand playing against idiots like me. He doesn't even try it. I wouldn't want him to, either. We'd probably get in an argument like that time in the chess club when I thought the queen could move like the horse. He was so fucking distraught about that afterwards. I thought the queen could do all the moves, but it can't, so whatever. It embarrassed him so much he almost stopped dragging me to those meetings."

"How can he be embarrassed if he's never taught you the rules?"

"That's what I argued. He said it was common sense. I don't see how it is."

"If you know the basics of chess, it is. Actually, the knight can be extremely valuable at times for the ability to jump over other pieces, which is something no other piece can do. It's kind of a unique piece in that regard. Want me to show you some cool stuff it can do? There's a chess board set up in the game room already."

Learning chess so late in the evening wasn't something Honda especially wanted to do, but he suspected that after the day Ryou'd probably had with so many people coming over and interrogating him (and all this being Honda's own fault), Ryou needed something to relax and keep him occupied. He deserved something of a breather, to collect himself and keep the unpleasant thoughts at bay while all the information of the day sank in and was unconsciously processed. Therefore, Honda went along and didn't complain as he followed Ryou to the game room, and Ryou began showing him some tactics with the knight piece.

"You're not going to test me on all this later, are you?" asked Honda after Ryou had set up a simple problem for Honda to solve on the board. "There isn't a multiple choice exam waiting in that desk drawer, is there?"

"I have some worksheets you can try," said Ryou as he indicated a large binder on a shelf in the corner. "We can improvise."

"Let's not," said Honda quickly. He looked around the room in quiet appreciation. "You certainly have a lot of chess stuff in here, though. How much were all these materials? Kaiba must've spent a small fortune. Even this board is really nice. Damn. It looks like it was a professional operation. No wonder you're so good now."

"Chess has kinda been my thing most of the year."

"I know, and I always knew you were studying. But like, I just never really realized how much there was to know. I just thought you had to move the pieces right to play."

"It's fairly complicated if you want to play well. My lessons were on more than just knowing how to move pieces. I had to learn to think strategically, be creative, and to compete. Seto sometimes had me study games that weren't chess to help me with strategical thinking. We also touched on a few variations of chess that were something of a novelty he didn't really get into. But, mostly it was all just traditional chess, all the time."

"Ugh, that sounds like it sucked."

"It wasn't always exciting, but when I showed up every day to study the boards and try tactics and go over games, it was predictable. It was also a lot of work, hard work, so I kind of had to find my own motivation and trust that there was a point, that my time wasn't being wasted on something that was impossible. Luckily, Seto's very candid about all things chess related. Anything you ask him about chess, he'll answer, even if it's about the times he's lost. If you ask him about the blunder he made five years ago that lost him his meticulously built up advantage against Vassy in one of the Sao Paulo matches, he won't shy from going over it with you. That sort of openness makes him less intimidating to work with. He doesn't lose his mind over stupid questions like Ryuuji does."

"I doubt you asked him many stupid questions, Ryou. I've heard you guys talk about chess, and it's like another freaking language. Also, Kaiba doesn't have to put up with as many stupid questions as Ryuuji does, or else he'd loose his mind over it, too. Actually, Ryuuji says Kaiba made him the coach for the team so that Kaiba wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Ryuuji claims there wasn't any real, serious problem with people not wanting Kaiba involved with the team, but that Kaiba encouraged people to say those things so that he'd have a way out. You were the only one worth his time, so he cut everyone else off. I know Ryuuji is quick with the theories on stuff, but hey, you gotta admit that sounds plausible. I'd do it."

"I guess Ryuuji makes up for it by beating Seto at chess all the time."

"He doesn't beat Kaiba that much anymore. Kaiba's better than Ryuuji."

Ryou made a knowing, dismissive gesture with his free hand as he copied the problem on the board and the answers to give to Honda before Honda left. Honda wasn't going to see this example once and then never have to think of it again. Sending him away with a note was the only reliable method to ensure that the chessic knowledge being shared in this room did no simply remain in this room, abandoned and forgotten as Honda's recollection blurred. You could never really force someone to memorize something without an incentive. You could only increase the chances that their memory bight be jogged by giving them something tangible, a record they could refer back on.

"Ryuuji," said Ryou as he darkened and clarified the final dot of an ellipsis in the second move, "throws matches and doesn't try. Kaiba's an overall better player, but Ryuuji still wins against him when he bothers to try. Seto got really concerned about it when he found out. Remember that upset in the amateur tournament in Baraja City that people think might've been Seto? It _was_ Seto. He was so upset about Ryuuji that he spent the entire tournament in a fit over it after I asked him if Ryuuji was a better player that he was."

"And you, Ryou," said Honda, imitating Ryou's know-it-all voice back at him. "You of all people have to know Kaiba doesn't settle with just throwing a fit after he loses a game." Honda moved the knight at last, and Ryou commended him nonverbally for making the right choice as he handed over the note he'd written.

"Anyway," Honda continued as Ryou set up the board for another example, "once the shock was over, Kaiba went and systematically figured out where exactly Ryuuji's chess skill ended. Ryuuji started to suspect it after a while, because nothing's going to ring Ryuuji's paranoid alarm bells more than someone trying to figure out his game. He got super agitated one day and was a total asshole to me, and when he apologized later he told me that he didn't think Kaiba was just challenging him arbitrarily to defend his ego and win, but was slowly figuring him out. Ryuuji got kinda paranoid about it, then. He actually disappeared on me for a whole week because he was so engrossed in organizing and analyzing a bunch of data he'd collected on Kaiba's chess career. It was…weirdly intense. I told Ryuuji that he wasn't allowed to play chess with Kaiba anymore. I don't think he has, either. He normally takes my advice when I tell him to stop something, odd as that may sound to you. I try not to do that too much, though."

"That sounds exactly like what Seto would do. You're right. He always has a to counter whatever he thinks is an attack. I'm kind of shocked he's started to outplay Ryuuji, though. He didn't tell me about it. Weird."

"Maybe he was worried he'd look like a dick if he told you?"

"Since when is Seto worried about looking like a dick in front of any of us?"

"Since when has Kaiba had to worry about looking like a dick? He actually gives a shit what you think about him, apparently."

"I'd kinda like to know if he's pestering my friend, though."

"But if he told you that, he'd have to stop pestering the friend, wouldn't he?"

"He shouldn't be pestering my friend in the first place."

"And that's exactly why he wouldn't tell you."

"Then am I supposed to be his parent or his boyfriend?"

"Whichever you are, he's clearly decided you have the authority to tell him he's wrong. Your opinion actually matters to him."

Ryou was a bit surprised and ashamed that he hadn't seen this sort of thing before. He felt like it might prove to be a terrible thing, having Seto believe he could keep things from Ryou to avoid having Ryou confront him or tell him not to take the action he wanted to take. It wasn't reassuring to know that Seto's reaction to Ryou's sudden importance was to hide things from him.

"He doesn't trust me."

"Well, Kaiba doesn't trust anyone very much. Though also, I hate to break it to you, Ryou, but no-one trusts you. We still like you and all, but we can't claim you're the most honest person we know. Jounouchi's probably the most honest—if by honest you mean totally without a filter."

"That sounds like something Ryuuji would say."

"Yeah. It does. You spend enough time around people and that sort of happens."

Ryou motioned to the board for Honda to tackle the next problem, trying to obtain a knight's fork in two moves. For a long while, Honda was silent, studying the board with stern, focused expression. Ryou had maybe worn that exact expression once, twice, a million times in front of Seto, working out problems, considering moves, trying to make good on the promise that he'd learn chess as diligently as he could.

Honda, of course, was just a person with a serious face when he didn't smile. His expression was no real indication of how serious he was or wasn't, which was something Ryuuji constantly teased him for, mockingly commending him for how stolid a guy he was, which wasn't typical for a teenager. Though he looks so earnest and focused now, Honda would probably forget everything Ryou'd taught him the moment he left the room. He was probably forgetting it slowly even now. There was no background knowledge for him to build up on, no relevance to his actual life outside his boyfriend being a game inventor who wasn't bad at chess.

"Do you want to go to the tournament this weekend?" asked Ryou. "It's not with the team. The team is done for the rest of the year, but I have one more tournament. I thought I might get Jounouchi to go with me, but I'm not planning to do very well, so he'll just bother me about why I'm not trying to win my section. My ranking is pretty much set, so I don't need to work all that hard. It'll be boring to go alone, though. You're the only person I feel like talking to much. Otherwise I'll just go by myself."

"I'll warn Jounouchi for you about you and Seto, if you want. I'm the one who told Yuugi and Anzu anyway. He'll be upset if he finds out way after everyone else does."

"Maybe tell him after the tournament. He'll invite himself to the tournament if you tell him now, and then he'll spent the whole time between rounds berating me for my choice in guys. I'll be kind of trapped. Don't do that to me."

"No problem," said Honda. He reached over to capture the enemy bishop, forcing the enemy queen into the optimal position to create a fork between it and the enemy king. Ryou grinned and applauded.

"You're not so bad at this, Honda," said Ryou happily. "You've learned very fast. I didn't even have to hint at you that an exchange of queens might be involved."

"Does Kaiba clap and cheer when you get shit right?"

"Of course not," said Ryou. He assumed a more serious, crotchety demeanor and feigned an exaggerated example of Seto's teaching voice. " 'Correct, Honda. It's good you didn't waste too much time. That was a simple puzzle.' "

"Shit. _Thanks_ , man. And if I'd taken too long?"

Ryou shrugged and smiled again, not able to keep up the act for long. "I'd likely glower at you, ask if you needed a hint, point out the queens by grumbling just 'the _queens_ ' at you, and then very obviously store my notes on this problem into the revision pile of likewise substandard solutions. You'd then see this problem and ones like it in reviews every other day for the next week until I was sure you'd finally got it."

"Well then it's a good thing I'm good at this."

"And it's a good thing I'm not Seto."

"Yeah, Ryuuji's full of shit. I'm pretty sure the team would've fallen apart if Kaiba ran it. Kaiba gave Ryuuji and Jounouchi the team for the team's own good."

"Obviously. Seto was clearly one step ahead of us all this entire time."

"The scary thing is that it might just be true."

Ryou and Honda shared mock, apprehensive glances over the board and then began laughing. Naturally, the best humor was the humor that carried a kernel of truth in it. The apprehensive looks were perhaps not quite so feigned at Honda and Ryou played them up to be.

"You up for one more problem before going home?" asked Ryou as he cleared the board.

"You mean you expect me to want to go home after introducing me to the exciting world of chess, Ryou?" asked Honda sarcastically. "I could do these puzzles all night."

"We have school tomorrow."

"Ah, okay, well in the case, just one more problem, then. One more problem from the chess professor."

Ryou grinned and set up the board enthusiastically, while Honda accused him of enjoying giving Honda the problems much more than Honda enjoyed solving them. Ryou just laughed and threatened to give him a quiz, too.

###### Notes:  


The last chapters of this fic will just be lousy with knights. Just in case any of you forgot for a second that this fic was really _all about chess_. In order to be less confusing, I will just focus on knights and bishops when people talk chess.


	37. To Never Ever Stop

Seto Kaiba was awesome at keeping busy.

If Seto stopped, the company stopped. If Seto didn't get the things done, none of those things happened. He was on top of the world, but the peak was tapered to a fine point of scant millimeters that required a tremendous balancing act to stay perched upon. Building his company back up from the brink of disaster had taught Seto just how much he stood to loose if it all toppled over. Titan of technological industry he was, Seto knew the eternal struggle for market dominance, for always aspiring to the next new and great thing. He was thus compelled to never, ever stop.

Seto Kaiba had so many endless, fantastic reasons to never feel, to never be Seto the person as opposed to Seto Kaiba the monumental entity that permeated all and preceded him everywhere he went. Even when it seemed Seto might run out of emails to send, budgets to set, directions to give that were proclaimed to be towards the better and brighter future, Seto still found even more to do. In a pinch, he could always fall back on his passion for technology, and it would consume his attention for days. Seto had always been a creator of tools, of useful devices to improve those things in life that mattered to him the most. He himself wrote the scripts that dictated the operation of his creations in logical, predictable patterns that never surprised him. It was so orderly and perfect. Everything in Seto's hands depended on him. Everything obeyed his instructions. The peace and clarity to be found in being the master of one's work, one's home, one's creations, was truly limitless. Seto's life was indefinitely full.

Seto wouldn't squander such a hard earned specter of happiness and fulfillment for the crushing misery of unrequited love and pining rejection. He wouldn't swap contentment and completeness for the empty feeling that would undoubtedly pollute him the moment he allowed himself to peruse a relationship that would reward him with nothing but the pain of his labor.

Thus, Seto kept busy. He drank coffee like vital blood infusions staving off death. He was three minutes late to a videoconference because coffee ran through you like it was trying for the Olympic gold when it was the only thing you'd consumed in the past twelve hours. He'd fallen asleep (or perhaps momentarily unconscious) in the middle of a conversation with Mokuba on the phone, and it'd freaked Seto out, because he'd only thought he was blinking before opening his eyes moments later and seeing that three minutes had evaporated from his life. It'd been years since Seto'd overworked himself to the point of unconsciously nodding off and subsisting solely on the simulative effect caffeine. It'd been years since he'd come to this sort of sudden, fainting away level of physical exhaustion, as his weak human body failed to keep up and instead began to mutiny against him.

Faintly, Seto was reminded of Ryou's story about falling asleep with his eyes open during a chess match.

 _Ryou was an idiot_.

Seto opened the huge packet of legal papers (his own copy for his records) of an application of some sort that had been submitted recently by the legal team down the hall. He reviewed it casually without seeing it, not remembering what he was applying for, or even if it was supposed to be the company itself applying and not Seto personally. He assiduously read over each line of text and saw nothing. He held the brick of paper in his hands, and it didn't exist.

Honda had been there before. Seto hadn't even remembered the guy's name, though he knew the face perfectly in how it related to the infuriating Ryuuji Otogi. Honda had literally needed to introduce himself to Seto after sitting down, and that had pissed Honda off. The feeling had been mutual.

Seto had then sat through a long, strange, and occasionally somewhat non sequitur speech from Honda about the importance of opening up to people. Seto had feigned attention to this while reorganizing the documents on his desk with his mind, memorizing the neat and tidy order he would put them in later once Honda had gone and it was no longer totally rude to do so. Seto pressed the tips of his fingers together and rested the furthest protruding point of his chin against them in a pose Seto knew would make him look severe and attentive, though he was rather the opposite of attentive.

In addendum to his usual speech, Honda had warned Seto, in too many words, that Ryou wasn't the kind of person who came crawling back asking for forgiveness or understanding in relationship standoffs. Ryou was more the kind of person who, when he saw you were cutting him loose, took the hint and drifted away while it was still easy. There would be no dramatic confrontation with Ryou if Ryou were the one intended to decide the next stop. Ryou would let the relationship die, and Ryou wouldn't even care.

Seto had no problem dealing with confrontations, if that was the action Honda wished to incite in him. It wouldn't be all that hard to confront Ryou, especially. Seto confronted people daily, and not all of them were very nice about it. It was something of a routine of his life at this point.

No, what Seto disliked so much wasn't the idea that he might have to confront Ryou himself, but rather the idea that _it had to be him_. That Ryou would never try. That Ryou had better things to do, apparently, then to fight to keep a fleeting relationship alive.

"Clearly you wish for me to drop everything and find Ryou right now," said Seto when Honda was finished making his rambling points and seemed satisfied with himself that all the necessary things had been said. "Clearly this is the most important thing I should be doing."

Seto swept his gaze over the paperwork, the double computer screens with a very busy looking graph splashed across one, an extra laptop running a short simulation of one of the chip production process models, and a tablet scrolling through Seto's endless project notes. Work dominated the surface of the desk before Seto. Work, it was clear, that Seto could not be parted from. He looked back to Honda.

"I mean, not right this second, literally. You can just call him later. He hasn't heard from you in days. Apparently you guys used to talk a lot? Like, I didn't bug him for details. That's just the impression I got."

"We played a lot of chess. Days of it."

"I know. He taught me some, actually. Not days of it, though. More like an hour and a half."

"Otogi hasn't taught you?"

"Why does everyone think…? You know what, I don't care. But anyway, yeah right. Like I'm going to let that guy gloat at me across a chessboard for fun. Not fucking likely. He gloats enough as it is. He doesn't need more ammunition."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me what Ryou taught you."

A few quick minutes later, Honda and Seto were an elevator trip and a long hallway removed from Seto's main office. A chessboard was between them, and Honda was having déjà vu sitting in a small room surrounded by chess paraphernalia with a knight's fork problem set up for his consideration. Apparently Ryou and Seto weren't totally lying when they told people that all they ever really did was chess. Chess certainly seemed to sprout up a lot in relation to those idiots. Honda couldn't say it was a surprise.

"Tell me some points about the knight," said Seto after Honda had told him that this topic was what Ryou had taught him.

"You're not kidding, are you? Because I can actually answer that now, if you really want me to. I'm actually a pretty decent student, okay?"

"I'm not kidding."

"Okay. So the knight can attack and guard squares of different colors while basically being out of range of what it's going to attack. That can make it hard to get if it gets in the middle of your pieces. Also, the queen can't do its move, so it's often more useful joined with a queen than a bishop might be."

"What are the knight's disadvantages?"

"The knight can't move and keep watching the same squares as before. It can be trapped against the side of the board by a bishop…somehow. It can't quickly get across the board fast. It has to get super close to attack stuff because its range is really short."

"What's the bishop's primary weakness?"

"I told you I studied knights."

"But Ryou would've taught you something about bishops as well."

"Yeah, well, he did kinda say something about how each bishop moves on one color. That seems like a problem."

Seto nodded in approval. "You're not completely terrible. You aren't hopeless," he said. He smirked. "Maybe I should've taught you chess, too. Now I'm a bit annoyed you never joined the team. What a waste."

"Games aren't really a super big thing for me," said Honda quickly, "weird as that sounds considering who I hang out with. Plus, Ryou sent me home with notes, and then Ryuuji said I should study them before I came over here. And to that, I've just gotta say: What the hell is wrong with you people? First, Ryou's dad quizzes me on history, and then, you're here quizzing me on bishops and knights. Ryou's surrounded by freaking professors everywhere. Damn. No wonder he's such a dork."

"When did you go to the museum?"

"We went to see that thing about the Sea Peoples with his dad. By the way, I aced the quiz after. You need to make sure you look at their hats on the inscription. The horned hats. That's important for the essay."

"So you met Ryou's father?"

"Yeah. He's a weird guy. But then, so is Ryou, so yeah."

Seto, of course, didn't care how weird Mr. Bakura was. Seto already had an idea because he'd met the man already during a KaibaCorp sponsored exhibit at the museum. What Seto truly wanted to know, but didn't want to directly ask about, was if Ryou had finally spoken to his father. Seto hadn't "had time" to listen to any of the messages that Ryou'd left on his phone over the past few days. It would've taken him less than five minutes, but it was five minutes Seto suddenly couldn't spare. After the first one call had come in, he'd immediately got his secretary to send a generic reply to stall for time, all the while having no idea what the message had even said. He was reasonably confident Ryou hadn't turned him down in the message. Ryou was honorable. Ryou would do that to someone's face, or at least while having an actual conversation with them. He wouldn't cop out and hide it like the world's worst Easter egg in your damn voicemail inbox.

There were exactly three messages now, each one under a minute in length. What they said was likely little more than "hey, call me back when you're not busy" and a farewell. Ryou wouldn't get more personal than that. His messages would be the sort of messages that were the seconds-wasting equivalents to leaving no message at all. And yet, Seto was still way too busy to check them. He was way too busy to waste the time to listen to Ryou's voice announce who he was (like this wouldn't already be stated in the missed call menu), comment on how he supposed Seto was busy (because he was polite and wasn't going to outright accuse Seto of blowing him off intentionally even if that was the truth), ask Seto to call him back when he had time (but Seto had no time), and then apologize for having missed him again, goodbye.

In quiet moments, especially at night, Seto would take out his phone and silently consider it as it lay on the table, daring himself to check the few seconds of messages he still hadn't played, while also patting himself on the back for his intense resolve not to care to check them, ever. This entire charade was inherently ironic and ridiculous, considering how steadfast Seto was about insisting he had no time, because it often turned out that Seto spent more time looking at the phone and deliberating with himself than it would've taken to actually get it over with and listen to the damn messages already.

"I guess you'd like to know if Ryou and his dad talked about you," said Honda, and there was a sudden light in his eyes that Seto just might've ventured to call mischievous. It was too much like Ryuuji. Seto was displeased. Apparently being human and liking Ryou had lowered Seto in the estimation of even the absolute dredges of Yuugi's friend group. They were starting to get big-headed.

"Of course they talked about me," said Seto to wipe the increasingly smug look off Honda's face. "Don't treat me like an idiot. Ryou said they would, and so that means they did. That's not a mystery. I highly doubt they included you in the conversation, though."

"They didn't, but I overheard."

"You eavesdropped on them."

"Not really. The museum was empty, and voices carry. It actually really got in the way of my concentration on the short answers of the quiz."

Instinctively, Seto reassumed the pressed-fingered, focused expression that he'd worn falsely when Honda had been lecturing him earlier. That had been more than a half hour ago. Seto had wasted nearly forty-five minutes on Honda's visit so far. Seto had yet to notice this.

"I can see you're implying you think you know something that would be of value to me."

"That's right. That's exactly right."

"And you have a price, don't you?"

"Nothing you can't afford, Kaiba."

* * *

Honda strode out of KaibaCorp headquarters twenty minutes later. He walked three blocks down to a café, ordered himself a lime soda, and took a seat at a corner booth. The booth's occupant, Ryuuji Otogi, didn't look up. He continued scrolling through his phone in idle silence while languorously consuming a pain aux raisins through the messy procedure of slowly unraveling it into bite-sized portions. Without a word, Honda removed a slip of paper from his wallet and passed it across the table. Ryuuji's face lit up like all of Christmas and Diwali at the sight.

"I'm so proud of you right now, Hiroto."

"The guy didn't even hesitate. One second he was asking how to spell my name, the next he was placing the check on the end of the table for me to take it. I was shocked he even carries a checkbook. _In his own office._ "

"It's because he likes the drama of whipping it out when he needs to surpass some trifling obstacle with money. Probably gives him a little rush, too. Also, people typically expect so much money from him when they ask for it that it would be impractical to keep that much cash on hand all the time."

"He offered cash."

"And yet you forced him to write a check anyway. For a measly fifty bucks. Fuck. You're so cool, Hiroto."

"I had to prove it to you somehow. That's his signature and everything. He did it all himself."

"You definitely win our bet, and I don't even feel bad that I lost. I'm just so proud. You went 110-percent, and I can't help but respect that. I've never been more in love with you."

"Dammit, Ryuuji; it's a check," said Honda, turning red and looking around nervously. He reached out and took the slip of paper, folding it and slipping it back into his wallet. "Anyway, what do you want to do with fifty bucks?"

"I want to frame that check and hang it on a wall."

"Yeah, but maybe let me cash it first."

"We should cash it at an actual bank. So we can brag to the teller."

"Don't be petty, Ryuuji. I'm going to just cash it with my phone when I get home."

"You're right. Then we can kick your nephew's photo out of the frame by the door and put the check there. Hang it up in your line of sight, so you can see it every morning when you wake up. To remind you of the power within you."

Honda chuckled, amused, and took a long sip of his lime soda. Ryuuji, now with a new game to amuse himself, pressured Honda to hurry so they could hop onto Honda's bike and leave as soon as possible. They had a full day of bullshit comments and jokes at Seto Kaiba's expense ahead of them, and Ryuuji wouldn't be made to wait.

* * *

Back at KaibaCorp headquarters, Seto Kaiba hadn't yet returned to his office and the brick of legal documents he'd be dumbly staring and not reading in an hour. Right then, he remain where he was, sat quietly in the small room of chess, looking down at the board and the last of the problems Honda had set up and said Ryou had taught him. Seto was no longer oblivious to the sheer bulk of time he'd wasted on Honda's visit, but he also no longer cared.

Seto sighed in irritation and removed the phone from his pocket. He laid it alongside the chessboard and entered his password to unlock it and pull up his call history. Soon, there was the distorted sound of Ryou's voice, slightly tinny and pitched too high in the inadequate speakers, saying three times, like ungranted wishes to an aloof genie, all that Seto had already known it was going to say. Ryou was nothing if not largely predictable. It made him quite bad at chess once his favored lines were figured out, but it also made him something of a reassuring constant to have around.

The messages ended and the room was silent again. Seto had only been partly listening to them. As he'd feared, he'd spent the majority of their runtime contemplating not the words spoken, but the voice speaking. This room, with its proliferation of chess artifacts and materials, was not an unfamiliar habitat for the voice, face, and very presence of Ryou Bakura to occupy. Perhaps, if Seto had been planning an exact, suitable location in which to expose himself to the unwelcomed stimulus of Ryou's existence, this place was the best choice. He expected the memory of Ryou in this room. Without even being dead, the ghost of Ryou was everywhere here. And Seto Kaiba was all about corralling and shutting up ghosts (in this case, ghosts being the memories of people who'd exercised some past influence on him that even now threatened to undermine his ability to indisputably govern himself) into very narrowly defined spaces and ranges of influence.

Seto'd forgot the phone's volume was still set on high, and so the sudden phone call a moment later startled him. He'd been caught up in a bit of brooding once the messages had finished and had lost all sense of time and its movement. The ringing of the phone had jolted him back to the present. He glanced over at the screen crossly and was surprised to see a number he didn't know. He decided to ignore it, even though it was rare that an unknown number ever called him on his personal phone. It was not something he wished to encourage people to try by answering when it happened.

Seto had just reached over and set his phone back on silent when the screen lit up and the same unknown number called again. In an instant, he knew it couldn't be Ryou. Ryou was never this annoyingly persistent. Ryou had fucking manners, even if the polite messages he left were completely useless.

"Who the hell is this?" demanded Seto, figuring anyone who'd found his private number deserved a dressing down, because clearly Seto hadn't been the one to give the number to them. The caller would've been saved in his contacts if that had been the case. "Where the hell did you get this number?"

"The hell where I got the number was off my son's phone, and the hell who this is is Ryou's Bakura's father."

Seto quickly sat up in his chair as if the man had just entered the room. "This is my personal phone," he said gruffly by way of explanation for what he still saw as totally merited rudeness. "Tell me what you want."

"I told Ryou he ought to bring you around the museum one of these days, Mr. Kaiba, but he never does. So, I'm fed up, and I'm inviting you. This evening works best for me, though it's a bit last minute. How about you? Are you busy? I was thinking half past seven."

"Well, it depends on if you're asking me or telling me."

"I'm strongly suggesting you."

"Fine. Eight o'clock. I'm leaving today at half past seven, and the traffic will add twenty to thirty minutes."

This was a lie, but Seto wasn't about to let Ryou's father set all the terms. They were already meeting on the old man's turf at the old man's bidding. The only thing left to Seto was to assert his will over the time.

"Excellent. Come in the east wing door, or the group entrance if you have a lot of security. It's nearer to my office than the front doors are. It'll be much more convenient for me."

"Done. Anything else?"

"Do you know about the Sea Peoples?"

"Not a damn thing."

"Oh good, you'll learn something."

###### Notes: 

Honda is intentionally really shitty at talking about chess. Plus, I just made a joke about writing checks. Clearly I need to stop lying and just admit to you all that I'm a forty-three year old buzzard in a people suit I found in a canyon and put on for the use of its enviable set of opposable thumbs.


	38. Time Out

"Wait, so in this example, you should to just get rid of your knight? Like no big deal? I thought you said a knight was important."

"Uh, well right now the knight is not the most important thing. Plus, this is called an exchange, and it's an intrinsic part of playing chess. I capture your knight, then you capture mine; they've been exchanged."

"What if I don't take your knight?"

"Then I'm going to capture your queen."

"Shit. That's right."

Honda did the correct thing; he captured Ryou's knight. However, in doing so, he opened the file up between his and Ryou's queens. Automatically, Ryou took Honda's queen with his own.

"WHAT THE FUCK, RYOU."

"You have to capture my queen, now. Your king's in check."

"Capture it _with_ _what_?"

"Your king."

"Oh yeah. I forgot the king can take stuff. Cool."

"Yep. The only problem is you can't castle now, and also the path leading to your king is now wide open for attack."

"Hold up, Ryou. We need to backtrack."

"What?"

"What's 'castle'?"

Ryou let out an accidental snort of disbelieving laughter and looked at Honda inquiringly. He quickly apologized when he saw the frustration on Honda's face. "Sorry. Just. I…I thought you were setting up to castle with the kingside rook. I didn't know…that you didn't know…that you could…."

"If it's something stupidly simple, then I swear, Ryou, you'd better not fucking tell Ryuuji about this or I'm coming after you once I'm forced to I kill him to get him to the hell shut up."

"Do you want to go back a turn? I can tell you a better move so you don't have to worry about a queen exchange yet."

"Isn't your next match in five minutes, though?"

"I was thinking about sitting out this round anyway."

"Don't get lazy, Ryou. Why else am I here but to keep you from getting lazy, right?"

"But I can totally sit out a round if I need to. It's not a big deal. It's scored like a draw."

"Save it for when you need it. We've only been here for an hour and fifteen minutes. You can't sit out yet. That's weak."

Ryou begrudgingly agreed and collected his notebook from where he'd optimistically placed it in his bag at the start of the break. He'd won his first match fairly quickly, but he was pretty sure it was because his opponent wasn't paying attention. The tournament had started oddly early, and not everyone participating seemed to be fully awake yet. Honda, styling himself to be something of an improvised coach and cheerleader, had told Ryou enthusiastically that Ryou should use the situation to his advantage as long as it lasted and score all the points possible. Ryou had grumbled and said if no-one else was trying, then why should he? Honda had been aghast and told Ryou that if Honda was sacrificing his afternoon—really the better part of his entire day actually—to accompany Ryou to a tournament, then Ryou ought to fucking win this shit.

"So, tell me more about the exchanges," said Honda when Ryou returned from the next round. Ryou had won again, so Honda was positively chipper. He was convinced his "training" with Ryou was clearly making Ryou do super well, along with Ryou's key advantage of being the most awake competitor in the building. Honda figured this was how you practiced chess: you just went through all aspects of the game like an inventory at every free moment in order to remind you what your options were. Then, you tried to remember it all in the heat of battle.

Honda was not totally wrong in this assumption. Unfortunately, Honda knew too little about chess to ask very challenging questions that might've actually caused Ryou to reflect on all he knew in a meaningful way. Instead, Honda asked Ryou about the absolute basics, about the vocabulary, and didn't pay enough mind to Ryou's answers. Frequently, Honda would mentally tune Ryou out, especially when Ryou's answers veered to deeply into real, convoluted theory. Specifically, positional theory. Honda, as an utter novice, only had a mind for tangible, active things, like tactics. He wasn't a damn palm-reader, which was what is sounded like you needed to be to actually win whatever game it was that Ryou was playing and called chess, even though it made no practical sense whatsoever and seemed awfully full of extrapolated bullshit no human was actually capable of calculating in a real match.

"You can't gain anything in chess unless you give something up. You have to try to mitigate the cost. It's not Magic and Wizards. You can't pull the right trap card and basically get something for nothing by way of luck. You can't fill your deck with the strongest, rarest cards and start dominating duels. What you give up, what you risk, the concessions you make, and the weaknesses you take on in order to pursue your goal, these things actually matter and should be considered."

"Yeah," said Honda distantly, telling himself that even though this explanation was boring and long (the absolute worse combo of two things imaginable), he was helping Ryou by forcing Ryou to share it. Exchanges, it seemed, made much of their living comfortably in the realm of the extrapolated bullshit side of chess that Honda so greatly abhorred.

"You should strive for the strongest position in the match, but if your opponent is any good, they will always counteract your moves. You can't play to keep up a positional balance between you and the opponent forever. Eventually, you have to try to win. Eventually, you have to start sacrificing what you have for what you want. So, you have to make exchanges. Remember what I told you about the relative value of the pieces?"

"Kinda. But, Ryou?"

"What?"

"In a general sense, I do really get what you're saying about giving pieces up, but at the same time, I also have no idea what you're talking about because I have no idea how to play chess properly, and about all I know is how knights and stuff move. Also, as of now, I know how to castle."

"Sorry."

"But I think it sounds like a great metaphor for attain what you want in life. Nothing's free. 'You have to start sacrificing what you have for what you want.' All that. That's like, in general, really good advice."

"Well, are you helping me practice chess, or are you turning chess theory into life lessons?"

"I like to think I'm doing both. All great coaches incorporate life lessons into their art. You have to grow as a player and a person by the end of this."

"I'm going to grow as a person by the end of this tournament, Honda?"

"So help me."

Honda, of course, was being sarcastic. He'd already used his one motivational, reality-checking, impassioned speech on both Ryou and Seto. There was nothing left. Unlike Ryuuji, who thought he had everything figured out about everyone, Honda had a rough idea of exactly how much shit he himself was full of at any given moment, particularly when it came to telling people what to do under the guise of giving them advice. That's why Ryou was hanging out with Honda now instead of Yuugi or Anzu or most anyone else. Ryou knew Honda didn't take the dispensing of useless advice and reassuring comments as a responsibility of his.

"Can chess really get you into a person's head and let you see how they think? Like, you can basically learn everything about them if you play chess enough times?"

Ryou blinked at Honda dumbly. Sometimes Honda's questions strayed really far from actual chess. It was hard to tell how serious Honda was, because Honda always looked vaguely serious, even when he said intentionally stupid things.

"Uh, the most you can learn about a person by playing chess against them is how they play chess. You can maybe get a read on their aggressiveness, but that sort of thing is also influenced by how much they know of chess. Like, you might play more aggressively if you know you aren't capable of the stamina needed for a more drawn out match."

"Is Kaiba an aggressive player? He does like having the most powerful monsters in Magic and Wizards. Kaiba likes to annihilate opponents."

"He doesn't get very flashy with chess. People have called him boring, pedantic. Chess depends on a lot of things determining how the match is played. It can depend on which color you start with, if you get to set the tone for the match or not, how well your opponent can actually play. Seto's really, really serious about it. He doesn't really celebrate when he wins. He only gets upset about losing if it's a surprise, like if someone he thinks is an idiot beats him."

"Like Ryuuji, except I can totally vouch that Ryuuj is actually an idiot, and don't let Ryuuji trick you into ever believing otherwise. It would do Ryuuji a lot of good if less people treated him like he was hot shit all the time."

"I'll keep that in mind next time Ryuuji kicks my ass in chess," said Ryou with a serious nod. Honda laughed, and then set up the board again so Ryou could show him the better move Ryou had mentioned before he'd gone for his last match.

When Ryou returned from the next round, he was surprised to discover Honda had a few problems ready for him. Ryou figured Honda had looked them up while bored. Ryou grinned and challenged Honda to find something he hadn't yet seen in the thousands of exercises he'd done with Seto. Honda promised he would, oddly confident in his ability to test Ryou at chess.

Ryou laughed nervously as Honda finished setting up the little travel set between them. The image before Ryou didn't seem to add up properly. This was actually a hard exercise.

"Who gave you this?" he asked. "I've seen it before, but I had trouble solving for the mate in four turns. You can't tell me you just found it randomly by searching 'hard chess problems' online on your phone."

"Ryuuji sent it to me. He knows I'm here with you. I'm not sitting around staring at the wall while you're playing."

Ryou pursed his lips and leaned forward, checking to make sure Honda had the answer, too, before wasting time trying to solve something he knew Honda couldn't even check was right. Instead of moving pieces, however, he just copied the answer down, mulling over it for a moment before committing to it and handing the finished work to Honda to compare with his solution.

"That must've been easy," said Honda. "Here's another."

Honda began going through a whole list of problems from his phone, occasionally needing Ryou's help to set them up when they were written in some form of notation rather than as pictures. Eventually, he was just showing Ryou his phone screen and hiding the solutions. Occasionally Ryou would work out a few steps of the solutions on the board when the puzzles were particularly tricky.

"This was fun for like, the first ten problems, but now I'm bored," said Honda after they hit a problem that had already taken ten minutes to work out and counting. "You seemed stumped. Let's skip this one."

"No," said Ryou, resting his chin in his hand as he continued to stare down at the miniature board. His eyes jumped back and forth rapidly as he mentally moved pieces and followed the likely sequence of events in each turn. He'd sometimes begin moving pieces physically, but then frown and put them all back, displeased with the direction he'd gone.

"I take back what I said last time. Giving the problems sucks when the other person takes forever. Let me give you a hint."

"You can't give me a meaningful hint," said Ryou. "You're just going to move the pieces for the next turn, and chances are I've already figured that out. It's the last few turns I'm having problems with, and as soon as you get to those, you'll just be giving me the answer rather than a hint."

Honda sighed and slumped in his chair. "Maybe Ryuuji sent a trick question just to fuck with you."

Ryou frowned at the board but didn't look away from it.

"When's your next match, anyway?"

Ryou jumped up as if electrified and looked frantically at his watch. "Oh no," he gasped and grabbed his notebook. Without any real goodbye, he was gone, hurrying back to the main floor for the competition.

Ryou wasn't much more than five minutes late, but it was going to count against him. He slipped heavily into the seat across from his opponent and shook hands absently to be polite as he whispered an apology. In the same quick movement, Ryou had his e-pawn out, swiftly starting the match before even full settling down in his chair. The opponent said nothing, likely too stunned at Ryou's sudden appearance across the board and the immediate commencement of the game.

Ryou's mind hadn't fully divorced itself from the problem he'd been working on in the practice room, which confused him as the tried to play the opening. He kept finding that his thoughts kept wandering down the winding path to that other solution, with very little regard for the match he was currently playing. Luckily, his opponent responded to Ryou's opening as perfectly as a textbook, which kept Ryou from having to think too hard as his mind's eye struggled to adjust itself to the new board. He prayed he might snap back into the match before the middlegame, however, or else he was screwed.

Seto had been right about not working too hard before a tournament, or reviewing material one wasn't entirely competent with when one was in the middle of competition. It required too much focus, too much strain. It overextended the chessic mind to the point of distraction, interfering with one's ability to play the actual match before them, because they'd start looking for all the tactics and tricks that applied to the exercise…as they might apply to the current game _that_ _was not_ the exercise. Opponents were people. They didn't respond like they were supposed to for the sake of the unit of study. People were independent. People took risks, blundered, deviated from the standard line, and were occasionally brilliant beyond measure. You had to watch out against people. You had to plan ahead.

Ryou rubbed his eyes tiredly, counting a few seconds to himself before he opened them again and forced himself to analyze the positions on board. He was still leading by time (tempos, not minutes), but not much else. It was a precarious edge. His opponent hadn't let Ryou take any advantage other than the one Ryou had started out on. He wondered when the opponent would finally strike out and dare to take the initiative from him. Which of them would be the first to make a mistake? Had Ryou already made one? But no, that was impossible. It was still too early.

Ryou decided quickly on a strategy he could follow, finally breaking away from the textbook back-and-forth between him and his opponent that had dominated the opening so far. All that Ryou had was the initiative, so he'd strike out first. He was beginning to suspect his opponent never would. His opponent was far too comfortable with the highly predictable sort of playing they'd managed so far.

Only a turn later, a sudden, shrill noise filled the hall. Ryou recoiled as if burned, startled, from where he'd just hit the button on his side of the clock. In the same fuzzy second of thought, he realized what was happening was that the school's bell for class dismissal had gone off. Behind him, there was a clatter and a crash as someone else, equally as startled as Ryou had been, knocked over their entire board. This was not the only disrupted match. It was cruel thing to jolt chess players out of their concentration with such sudden, literal alarm.

Music began to play, and Ryou and several other players looked up, baffled. Someone commented that it must've been one of those schools where they played music in the halls between the classes. A low rumble of chatter, most of it surprised remarks and observations of the situation, erupted around the tournament hall as directors and arbiters bustled about to address the disturbance. These adults shushed the competitors, but by now the situation was more than a little out of hand for such a small team of officials to deal with as the music continued.

"You're not scaring me into moving my pawn, so you can forget about that course," said a whispered voice across the board from Ryou. "I'll take that bishop after you capture the pawn. Even if you chicken out and don't take the pawn, you'll be losing your undefended knight to mine. And if I take that knight, I'll go ahead and capture your other bishop, too. Perhaps you'll finally retaliate and capture my knight by then, but the fact remains that I'll still have both my bishops plus a knight, and I know much better how to use them than you'll know how to coordinate the sole knight and bishop you'll have left."

Ryou gawked at the green haired teen in tinted glasses and a surgical mask. He hadn't known they let you wear surgical masks during tournaments. He supposed the close quarters made them something of a considerate gesture if you were sick. He was fairly confident Seto Kaiba wasn't wearing the mask because he was sick, though.

"I can't believe you're here right now; what if someone sees you and recognizes you?"

"When the arbiter turns around, I suggest you move that bishop back."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Then I guess I'll do it for you."

Seto reached over in a flash after glancing up to check where the arbiters and floor directors were hurrying to as they tried to address the music that continued to play along with the spoiled matches that required close arbitration to resume course. Someone was walking down the rows telling the competitors that the music would last five minutes and that it was best to suspend their matches until it was over.

With a slight of hand that bordered on truly magical, Seto moved one of his rooks uselessly aside one square in a circuitous gesture which required him to pass his hand over Ryou's own bishop and move it back. He hit the clock to end the turn, checked the locations of the officials once more, and then hit the clock to end Ryou's move without allowing Ryou to take it. He returned his displaced rook to its original square and forced Ryou to capture his knight. He hit the clock two more times and finally sat back to consider how he was going to respond.

"Oh look," said Seto with mock surprise, "you changed your mind and captured my knight instead. Smart move. You've definitely weakened my pawn on the a-file. You're pretty good."

"How the hell did you…? So fast?" stammered Ryou, only processing what had happened now that it was over.

"Keep your voice down, the commotion's waning. You'll get us kicked out."

"I'm going to get us kicked out? _You just broke the rules_."

"The arbiter won't believe you. Why would you argue that in this commotion I gave you an advantage? Who the hell does that?"

"I didn't write it down."

"You were just about to when the bell rang."

"I'm not—"

"I'd like to see you uncapture my knight without anyone here noticing you putting it back."

The music finally stopped, three minutes early, rendering Ryou unable to respond as silence resumed its place. One of the officials was telling everyone present to refrain from playing any moves, that five minutes would be added to the overall time allowed for each match. The arbiters and floor directors then splayed out to negotiate complaints from a few competitors who claimed their opponents had used the moment's distraction to cheat. Ryou glanced at Seto, who raised his eyebrows (there was very little else visible of his actual face), silently daring Ryou to say something to the official that was about to pass their table. Ryou glanced at the players on the board next to theirs and Seto shook his head. No, they hadn't seen. Seto had been too quick. They'd assumed Ryou and Seto had simply kept playing through the interruption.

Ryou sighed and took up his pen to write the moves down. He paused occasionally as he did so to shoot Seto a disapproving look. He deeply suspected that Seto might be sneering beneath the surgical mask.

Though Ryou was ahead by time and material now, he used his next turn for the utterly bullshit move of sifting his king over a square, sentencing it to a future with no prospect of castling. Seto made a small, irritated noise and immediately did the same move himself, thus confirming to Ryou what Ryou already suspected: Seto was trying to lose the match.

Ryou decided he wouldn't make this easy for Seto. Unlike Seto, Ryou knew how to commit to losing. His next turn, he took three whole minutes to move his h-pawn forward two squares. The only reason he finally did move was because Seto deliberately twitched his hand in the direction of the clock, threatening to make the move for Ryou once no-one was looking.

Eventually, the moves got a little more serious after and arbiter stopped over Ryou's shoulder to observe the progression of the match. Seto and Ryou were reminded how suspicious it would look if the match timed out and the very obvious fact that they hadn't been playing properly revealed itself in their notes. Thus, they interspersed useless moves with what passed for the barest shadow of a semblance of a real game. But, by no means were they playing proper chess, not really. They were playing a game of who would lose first while trying to make it look like chess in case to anyone glanced over.

Seto was someone who fought to win, though, even if the object of the game was to intentionally lose it. He also cheated by nudging Ryou's rook into a more advantageous position and then hit his side of the clock followed by Ryou's. Ryou now had Seto in check, and Seto's king escaped in the worse possible direction that would lose him the game in only two turns if Ryou acted on it. Ryou, however, immediately moved his rook alongside the king prematurely, forcing Seto to capture it to get out of check. Reluctantly, Seto did so.

As they played, Ryou didn't think too much about why Seto was here and struggling to lose a chess match against Ryou after avoiding him for nearly a week. He supposed the simplest answer was the most likely: Seto had simply wanted to make a dramatic entrance. He'd probably expected that Ryou would want to win the match, too, seeing how Ryou had never won a match against Seto.

Well, Seto was wrong. Ryou had no aspirations of beating Seto at Seto's game, even if Seto deliberately handed him the victory. It wouldn't make Ryou feel better about Seto ignoring him for entire days. He wondered, dryly, if Seto might tell him that he was on a business trip all this time. Just like Seto'd been on a business trip when the team had failed to make it through their first tournament. For such important trips that cut him off from all contact for entire days, they certainly seemed rather last-minute in their shoddy organization.

Surprisingly, Ryou didn't take much offense at the fact that Seto was trying to give Ryou a victory, though Ryou supposed he had full right to be offended by it. If Ryou hadn't been so annoyed with Seto for a whole host of other reasons beyond the wound to his pride that was a match was being thrown for his sake, Ryou might've even let himself beat Seto. He wouldn't have considered it a real victory, but he would've accepted it as some weird, conciliatory gesture from Seto, because he would've understood how hard it was for Seto to give up a match. This sort of thing was very much against Seto's deeply held beliefs of himself as a serious game competitor. He was making a concession for Ryou. But, Ryou wasn't going to let him. Seto would have to earn his own failure as much as he earned his victories.

Time was running out at last, and the group of competitors had dwindled to the point where it was impossible for Seto to pull off any more slights of hand unseen. Ryou saw this match would be won with minutes, not with moves, and began dragging his turns out again. Seto did likewise. At one point, Seto waited so long, Ryou was afraid Seto might just sit there for the full ten minutes he had remaining. When he finally moved, the result was actually productive in the advancement of his position. Supposedly this was to justify the amount of time he'd taken.

Ryou was inspired by Seto's last move. In a sudden reversal, he began to capture the pieces on offer to him, closing in on Seto's king. When he met Seto's eyes, Seto offered a slight, approving nod, welcoming Ryou to win the match. With only his eyes, he seemed to somehow imply that it was about time Ryou had come to his senses.

And, of course, with Seto thinking Ryou had finally conformed to Seto's plan, Ryou easily stalled in his last two minutes and ran out of time first. Seto immediately realized how much he'd taken Ryou's cooperation for granted, but it was too late. When a director came over to ascertain the result of the tournament's longest match, there was no way for Seto to argue that he hadn't won. Ryou's time on the clock had run out. Seto still had his five surplus minutes because Ryou had arrived late to the match an hour ago.

Ryou pretended to be disappointed but a good sport about the loss. He shook Seto's hand and said he'd try to arrive on time to his matches in the future. They went and delivered their results, Seto sulking wordlessly. Ryou continued to the practice room where Honda was grinning and mouthing nonsense at his phone screen like an idiot as he texted.

"Shit, Ryou, that match took forever," said Honda as Ryou entered his peripheral vision. "Why the hell was the bell ringing? Who the hell organized this tournament? I mean, I've never been to one of these things, but I didn't expect a set up this unprofessional. Did that throw you off? I don't think you'll have time to work on the problem Ryuuji sent. I think we should skip it anyway. Do you want to just see the answer?"

"I'm going to pass up my next round," said Ryou. He picked up his bag from the floor at Honda's feet.

"Your last match sucked that much?"

"No, I've got to talk to someone real quick."

"And ditch me? Cool."

"I'll be back. I've got to finish the tournament anyway. You can go do something else for two hours, I guess, since I'll probably have to go to the next match directly after my…meeting."

"A meeting now? Why so mysterious, Ryou? I know chess is the game of super villains, but like, if you're being recruited by some, you can tell me. I didn't park far. We can make a break for it. Losing a tournament is a small sacrifice for a life indentured to the service of evil."

"No but really, I'll text you," said Ryou, not taking the moment to chat with Honda. He tossed his bag over his shoulder and turned to go. "I don't want anyone overhearing the details, but I'll text you in like five minutes. I promise."

Honda rolled his eyes and took up his phone again. Ryou suspected he was texting Ryuuji, complaining about how odd and hurried Ryou was acting. Ryuuji was probably encouraging Honda to sneak after him and find out what was so mysterious. Honda was probably currently making the argument that if he kept intruding and eavesdropping on Ryou, Ryou would never hang out with him ever again, and friendship was way more important than satisfying one's reckless curiosity.

Ryou, meanwhile, looked around nervously as he left the tournament area and slipped through a hall door leading to the classrooms and offices of the host school. He felt lost for a moment, feeling like he'd fallen through a portal created by some unseen glitch in the fabric of reality, because the hall looked more like a corporate office than a school. A wavy line of tiles formed a vaguely oceanic mosaic in the floor that provided the long, receding space with a sense of movement and marked distance that was often lost when the floors and walls were all the same various shades of sandy white and tan. There were alcoves in the blue-gray walls with various scientific instruments inside, encased behind glass like a museum display.

Ryou silently gawked a moment, temporarily forgetting his purpose for stepping out into this hall that he was most likely not allowed to trespass in. This door should've been locked, really. He checked his phone to see the room number Seto had sent him along with directions on how to get there. Ryou walked that way, texting Honda as he went to let him know that he was going to talk to Seto.

Honda, of course, immediately replied that Ryuuji had already guessed this. He also joked that this didn't mean super villains weren't still trying to recruit Ryou. Ryou had to be careful.

Though he was amused by the joke, Ryou was too anxious to smile. He muted the phone entirely, put it in his back, and continued on his way to meet Seto.

###### Notes:

I have no idea how people deal with loud shit interrupting a round of a chess tournament. So, I took some creative license, because how else are Ryou and Seto going to get the chance to _bicker_?

Also, losing chess is an actual game. But like, it has rules. Seto and Ryou are clearly playing by the rules of bullshit.


	39. Fools Rush In

Like idiots, they looked at everything in the room: the chairs, the carpet, the smudges on the table, the fly outside bumping stupidly into the window repeatedly because it didn't understand why it couldn't reach the blue sky reflected back to it in the glass pane. Everything, all of it, they saw; everything, to the smallest detail, they knew perfectly.

Everything, that was, except each other. In that instance, they were both purposely blind.

They were sitting in some school administrator's office, but it felt like a doctor's consulting room, because Seto still hadn't taken off the surgical mask. Seto had positioned himself in the seat behind the desk automatically only a short time before Ryou had arrived. He now inspected a framed picture of four babies in matching sunflower costumes with the words "April Flowers" written in metallic gold pen on the bottom bar of the frame. Seto snorted derisively as he read the text arching in a rainbow over the heads of these babies. Ryou approached to look over Seto's shoulder at what it said, too, but the writing was in Spanish, making it unintelligible to him. Seto placed the frame back on the desk. He pulled his hand away with a slight flick of his fingers, as if touching something so saccharine sweet had disgusted him and needed to be cast off.

"I only have about an hour until my next match," said Ryou. He adjusted the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder as it began to slip. Seto looked over to him, but said nothing.

"Take that creepy mask off. You never get sick."

"No. If someone walks in here, they'll recognize me. I'm only wearing a wig and glasses as a disguise."

"And jeans and a t-shirt. You never wear normal clothes."

"I actually bought these yesterday."

"Are you serious? Even that ugly blanket of cardigan? Or are you literally wearing a blanket right now?"

"If I'm sick, I have to look like I have a chill. Also, it shortens me. Makes me _unassuming_."

It also made Seto look like an eerie chess playing recluse who hadn't left his house since the mid 2000's, and had only wandered into the tournament by accident after confusing the school with the local pharmacy in his fever induced stupor. That, or he looked like someone a victim in the opening of a film met in a dark, half-lit the street. The mysterious figure, in the case Seto, would whip back his bulky cardigan at the last moment to reveal that he was actually composed of three, laughing insectoid aliens balanced in the perfect semblance of a human man on each other's multiple shoulders and interwoven abundance of legs. Once he pulled down the mask with his clever maxilla, it would be revealed that he had a pair of crushing mandibles clipping scissor-like and hideous where one would've expected soft, human lips.

"So, are you going tell me why you're here? Or are you just making a uselessly big entrance to impress me? What would you have honestly done if I hadn't made it to the match? Was there even some kind of contingency plan for that? I'm kind of curious what was going through your mind when I was already five minutes late."

"You were more then ten minutes late if you count how you played your first twenty moves."

Ryou crossed his arms and look down at Seto. If Seto had any particular expression on his face, it was impossible to see through the glare that obscured his eyes behind the narrow lenses of his glasses.

"Did you have a busy week?" asked Ryou. His shoulder was beginning to ache under the weight of the bag. He moved to a chair against the wall of the small office and sat down.

"Full of work, but not extraordinarily busy. I did a lot. I met with your father yesterday afternoon."

"I'm sorry."

"He got my number off your phone."

"I assumed that's how he'd reach you."

"You should keep a better eye on your phone."

"It was my dad. I don't guard my phone around my dad."

"You have my number saved in your phone under my actual name?"

"Yes."

"…Why?"

"Because it's your number."

"Do I really need to spell out how bad an idea that is?"

"Are we talking about your name in my phone when I'm pretty sure what we probably ought to be talking about is if we're going to start a relationship? Because if we can't actually talk about this kind of thing without talking about twenty other things instead, I think we might be wasting our time."

Seto frowned and adjusted his useless glasses as he sat forward in a way that might assert his presence even over the bric-a-brac barrier of this foreign desk. He'd never liked ornaments cluttering his own desk, interrupting the direct flow of dominating power that he pointed towards his clients and associates during more unpleasant interactions that required a strong hand. Taking charge was not necessarily required of him in this situation, however. He only needed to be frank and honest about what was going on. This was a matter of feelings and persuasion, not a logical debate.

Unfortunately, Seto was much better at bestowing what he perceived to be his superior logic. If he could out reason Ryou, then he could convince Ryou to _stay_. Because that was what Seto wanted right now. He didn't need a profession of undying love or anything sappy or ridiculous, because Seto'd be obligated to answer it in turn, and Seto was worried that those were words he couldn't believably spit out right now, right here, or perhaps ever. Boiled down to it's most basic, Seto simply wanted to know that Ryou would stay with him, because he needed to know he had Ryou's companionship. The thought of continuing without the steady reassurance of Ryou's presence was unimaginable in the sense that he was refusing to imagine it. He refused to examine it. In a world where Seto was otherwise totally alone, he only wanted to know if, for a while, he'd at least have Ryou around.

"I already know you like me," said Seto. "What do we really need to talk about? Do you want to go anyplace together later? We'll do the normal thing. We'll start going out together."

"I want to know what you and my father talked about."

"He said some of your old models for RPGs were taking up a lot of room in his home, and he was thinking I could find a place for them someplace on my estate. I told him we have plenty of dry storage space at Kaiba Manor. It wouldn't be a problem."

"Seriously? He's pawning my stuff off on you already?"

"I got the impression some of the items are large. They seem to have become an encumbrance to him. He wants to make your old game room a library."

"He already has a library."

"He's got more books now."

"And that's all he asked you about."

"Yes," said Seto. This was half a lie, but only because he knew better than to tell the truth. Only because he'd read in his interaction with Mr. Bakura that not only would Mr. Bakura like the old models and gaming memorabilia to leave his home, he'd also be happy if Ryou had someplace else to go, too. This had angered Seto, although after a moment he'd realized the man wasn't trying to expel Ryou from his house out of pure maliciousness. Mr. Bakura simply wanted Ryou to be in the stage of his life where he left home at last and started his own life, and he hoped Seto might accelerate that because Seto had a big house with many rooms.

Very quickly, Seto had decided he was never really going to have much respect for Ryou's father. He didn't hate the man, but he'd never be totally unable to keep from judging him mercilessly. Seto's own father, who Seto barely remembered, had stepped up gamely to the task of raising Mokuba and Seto upon his wife's death in a way that Seto had noticed even as a child. Seto had followed his example by taking care of Mokuba when every insecure, egocentric, childish instinct inside him had told him it would be easier to not sacrifice himself for a kid brother who couldn't even remember their parents. Meanwhile, Ryou's father leant too heavily on the fact that Ryou must be old enough to take care of himself by now. Ryou fed into this belief himself and humored his father by becoming more or less completely autonomous. Now, the man was worried Ryou might come home again after so long away and never leave.

"I wasn't just about your old stuff. Your father was really seeing if I cared enough to show up at all," said Seto. He knew Ryou suspected there had been more to the meeting than the relocation of childhood artifacts. Seto invented a reason that sounded like it might be true. Who knew? Perhaps it was.

"That's true."

Ryou slid down a little in his seat and clasped his hands together over his stomach. His bag slipped down his shoulder and slid along the chair leg before thudding lightly on the floor besides his feet. Something inside clanked. It was probably his phone hitting the travel chess set.

"I should've called you back."

As established already, the words "I'm sorry" and specifically "sorry for ignoring you with the full intention of making you suffer for a week" where not a part of Seto's lexicon. The last time Seto had apologized, it was to Mokuba, and it was directly before having his soul extracted from his body and placed into a Magic & Wizards card held by his monomaniacal business rival. That instance and the situation before Seto now were in no way of equivalent value. Getting your heart broken and your soul stolen weren't comparable experiences. Seto wasn't about to lose Mokuba forever if things didn't work out with Ryou.

"I'm not going to make flashy, romantic overtures," said Seto. He moved a pewter cat out of the way so he had more of a direct line of sight to Ryou now that Ryou was slouching. "I already know you like me. But, I need you to actually tell me you want to go out with me. I need you to confirm that."

"I guess I confirm it."

"You _guess_."

"Yes. Yes, I'll date you. We're together now. This is a thing. I'm dating Seto Kaiba."

Ryou wasn't just telling Seto this; he was admitting it to himself. That had been Seto's intention. He didn't want Ryou to shrug and go along. He wanted Ryou to make some sort of official statement on the situation, like a verbal handshake to seal the deal. Seto smiled when he heard it said at last. There was no reason not to smile. Ryou couldn't see him smiling anyway. It was nearly impossibly to make out any expression on Seto's face unless you were close and looking directly at him. And Ryou, currently, was looking at the wall.

"I'll run it by my PR people tomorrow. Not to be impersonal, but we already know spontaneity doesn't go over well in the public eye. We'll let the rumors continue and confirm them later. It won't be big news if the press already suspects you. You'll need security if we're public, and that might get in the way of your studies. Also, if we're public, it will be harder for you to change your mind after. I don't want you to be constrained."

"It sounds like you already went over this with someone in PR."

"I ran it past one of my advisors three weeks ago. I wanted to work out the logistics before entangling myself in media frenzy. I also needed some options to present you with in case you expressed some doubts about these kinds of things. I don't believe in playing things by ear."

"That's right, that's totally right," said Ryou. He was comforted about how suddenly sensible things had become. What had felt chaotic and upsetting for days was now neatly resolved and squared away. It was a little unsatisfying to the part of them that feared and yet strangely yearned for excitement and high stakes. He had the feeling with Seto there wasn't going to be a lot of that. Seto had a flair for drama in his words and actions, but in the managing of the details of his life, he was rather bland.

In truth, Ryou felt oddly like an acquisition Seto had just made. Indeed, he supposed he was, though maybe acquisition was the wrong term to use. Perhaps it was more like an investment. Seto, in his odd, cold way, had shown how serious and how much he cared by making sure everything was in place, that every answerable question or concern had been addressed, and every excuse to fail had been anticipated and counterbalanced as much as anyone could manage. It was now up to them.

"Are you going to finish the tournament?" asked Ryou while checking his watch to see how much time he had remaining. "I have two more matches, so…."

"No, but I'll send someone to pick you up after, and we can go eat something. Celebrate the end of our contract. You're no longer obligated to study chess with me anymore, you know."

"I already told Honda that I'd go with him and Jounouchi to get dinner after this."

"Really, Ryou? We're together now and you're going to turn down our first dinner date to get hamburgers or something with Jounouchi and Honda?"

"Tomorrow would just work better for me."

"Is this some kind of test on my patience?"

"Not really. But maybe you should return my calls next time and make plans with me, because it's kind of ridiculous to expect me to drop everything when I've had plans to meet up with my friends for two days already, and you and I haven't spoken for like a week."

"Touché. I'll concede that much. Tomorrow won't have quite so much significance as today would, though…"

"You've already ordered the courses, haven't you?"

"It takes at least two days for a terrine de campagne to develop its full flavor, so you can't exactly ask for one an hour in advance. And anything made with pate à choux has to be eaten within hours of baking or it loses the texture."

"How do you even know that? You hate food."

"The chef informed me when we went over the proposed menu. I barely know what a terrine de campagne is. A cake of liver and meat, I guess?"

Ryou began to laugh, quietly at first, but by now he had nothing much to hide from Seto, so he let the laughter grow. "I think you're right," he said, trying to reassure Seto while also sniggering stupidly at him. "I think that's exactly what a terrine is."

"Well, are you going to come to dinner with me and find out?"

"No, still no," said Ryou, shaking his head. "I can't let you off so easily for ignoring my calls, so there's your punishment. We can go out starting tomorrow."

Seto had one last card to play before he'd accept Ryou answer. Seto ought to have known better, though, since the past few months had been a master class in all aspects of Ryou's resolve when Ryou'd made a decision, but Seto still felt he needed to try his luck. As they stood the leave the office, Ryou ahead of him for being the one nearest to the door, Seto lowered the surgical mask and grabbed Ryou's shoulder to turn him around. Ryou responded stiffly, not nearly so pliable as Seto would've imagined he'd be. Ryou nearly dropped his bag and stumbled to catch it, shooting Seto a confused and slightly irritated look for knocking him off his balance so suddenly.

Seto waited for Ryou to retain his equilibrium and adjust the position of the bag over his shoulder before moving in for the kiss he hoped might change Ryou's mind about putting Seto off for another day. Instinctively, Ryou shot his head back, out of reach, as the pause to collect his bag had totally destroyed the window Seto had opened to steal a kiss from Ryou before his guard went up. Ryou only fully grasped that Seto was trying to kiss him as he pulled away from Seto. Tentatively, an odd sort of apologetic waver in the movement, Ryou brought his face forward again to complete the kiss.

Ryou expressed with a shrug of his shoulders his disbelief, even though Ryou was going along with it, that Seto felt kissing was the appropriate thing to do in the doorway of some stranger's office in a part of a school they weren't even supposed to be in. Another side of Ryou, which was the primary side of him that was propelling his actions at this moment, was extremely pleased to be kissing Seto. Sadly, not every side of Ryou could be as self-aware and careful as his rational brain. The same went for Seto, who deep down knew with full and utter clarity that kissing Ryou was not going to change Ryou's mind. But, the stupid part of him just really wanted to kiss Ryou again at least once.

"Still no," said Ryou, pulling away at last and turning to exit out into the hall. "Pull the mask back up and let's go."

Seto and Ryou left the office together. Ryou rejoined the tournament while Seto called his chauffer to pick him up. Seto then called Mokuba to invite him to get dinner with him that evening. There was something they needed to talk about, and didn't Mokuba like terrine de campagne? Mokuba had no idea what it was, and Mokuba wanted to play video games online with his friends anyway. Seto promised him a rum cake. And suddenly, like a miracle, Mokuba's evening was wide open.

Seto made a mental note to find the equivalent to a rum cake for Ryou, soon. Then, life would be perfect and under control. Which were both the very same thing, really.

###### Notes:

That's it. That's the fic. Thank you for reading. I hope it was fine.

**Let Me Take a Moment:**  
If I ever revisit this fic, it will be in the form of one-shots. If there's any particular scene you wished for some reason to see between this particular iteration of Seto and Ryou, let me know (wherever, however) and who knows? I might just be bored enough to write it. Unless it's sex, because I can't write sex seriously at all, and it just becomes a mess of euphemisms and waaaaaaaay too detailed descriptions at the same time because to me that is hilarious? Basically, I will ruin sex for you. Trust me; you don't want it.


End file.
